Ghost Cave (10 page)

Finally Hermie said, “Let's humor him, Eddie. We both know he's strange, but what can it hurt?”

“Promise me.” Marc stuck out his hand and insisted before Eddie could think about it any longer.

Hermie put his hand in Marc's. Eddie hesitated and scowled, but finally lifted his grimy hand onto theirs. “I must be nuts. Okay—but only for a couple of days.”

Brushing off their jeans and jacket sleeves, they hurriedly got ready to leave. It would take them an hour or so to get out of the cave and get home. The way they looked, someone was sure to ask questions if they saw them. Even Gramma and Pops would realize they hadn't gotten this dirty from just sleeping.

Their luck gave out two blocks from Eddie's house. None of them had remembered about Mooney's paper route. It was six o'clock, and they were thinking about how to crawl into the window of Eddie's room. Eddie said Pops and Gramma never disturbed him, since they knew
he
wasn't going to get up at dawn. All they had to do was get into the room.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mooney called out as he rode straight in front of them. His bike was heavy with newspapers. He was just starting to deliver. “Now, I know you three are never out this early, because I'm out here every day. Something is going on.” He looked them up and down.

Marc followed Mooney's eyes and cursed his carelessness. They were all three filthy from head to foot. There was no way to hide it.

“It doesn't take much intuition to know you three
children
no longer play in the dirt.” He dragged out the word “children,” and a big grin covered his face. “Thought you'd outsmart me, didn't you?” He laid down his bike and sauntered in front of them, taking hold of Marc's bike in case he decided to whiz off while Mooney was on foot.

“Get out of my way, Mooney. I'd love to run you over.” Marc caught hold of Bluedog, who had moved closer to him and started to growl. She got stiff all over and cocked her head.

“Why don't you sic that funny-looking dog on me?” Mooney dared. He moved over to Hermie and took hold of Hermie's arm. “I knew you boys had found something. You've been digging, haven't you? Slipped out in the night to try to outsmart old Mooney.” He twisted Hermie's arm enough to make Hermie grimace. “Want to tell me about it, kid?”

Eddie dropped his bike. “You're a pile of horse pucky, Mooney. Pick on someone your own size.” Eddie moved behind Mooney.

“You mean you, Greasehead?” Mooney started to laugh. He turned around to take care of Eddie. Eddie danced around him, fists up, like a terrier with a tiger.

“Take off,” Eddie shouted, having maneuvered Mooney away from Marc and Hermie.

Marc motioned to Hermie, knowing that Eddie could take care of himself. What he lacked in size, he made up with nerve. And Marc figured Eddie could outrun Mooney if nothing else.

Sure enough, by the time Hermie and Marc pulled up quietly to Eddie's window, Eddie had caught up with them. He jumped off his bike, laid it next to the other two, then flipped open the window screen. “I always leave it open. Never know when you'll need to make a fast escape.”

Marc smiled and shook his head. Eddie had his life under control, even if it wasn't perfect. They rolled into the low window as quietly as possible and lay on top of Eddie's bedspread. The bed shook with laughter.

“Shhh, they'll hear us,” said Hermie, trying to hold back his giggling.

“No, they won't,” said Eddie. “Remember? They can't hear.”

“Mooney—Mooney—” Marc couldn't stop laughing to talk. “Did you see that look on his face when he saw us? It was almost worth getting caught.”

“Yeah, he knew we'd outsmarted him.” Eddie sat up. “ 'Course that doesn't take much effort.” He started laughing again.

Finally Marc rolled over. “Thank goodness we weren't carrying the relics.”

“Yeah, Marc. That was good thinking.” Hermie rolled onto his stomach.

“If I could sneak into the bathroom and clean up,” Marc said, “I would go on home to sleep.”

“Me too,” Hermie said. “Except that I'm starving. I was looking forward to Gramma's biscuits and ham gravy.”

Marc had forgotten that. He'd stay for sure if Gramma would cook for them. So they cleaned up as best they could without taking a bath, and appeared at Gramma's table for a suspiciously early breakfast before taking off for home.

Gramma, surprised but delighted to have three hungry boys to feed, made a big meal of hot biscuits, fried ham, and scrambled eggs, and gave them each a heaping plate. Without thinking, she even poured them coffee. Marc mixed his with thick cream and swigged it down, feeling warm to his toes.

When they were done, Marc felt doubly full. The secret of the cave filled and warmed him, too. They had made a special find. There were really no great relics in the grave, nor anything rare. The arrowheads were beautiful. But the fact that it was a boy who was close to their age buried there had made him possessive about the discovery. That was why he had insisted they not reveal the grave until he could think about it some more. Right now it belonged to them. If news got out, it would belong to the whole town. And the last person Marc wanted to share it with was Howard Moon. Even if they got credit for the discovery and the money from the reward, to share it with people like Mooney would spoil it.

At least he had bought some time from Hermie and Eddie. Now he had to decide what to do.

11

A T
ALK WITH
M
R
. D
ANIELS

The first thing Marc did was get some sleep. Falling into bed the minute he got home, he stayed awake just long enough to feel Bluedog sneak into bed beside him. Mama never liked the idea of his sleeping with a dog, but now with her gone, they'd gotten into this new habit. He ran his hand across Bluedog's warm middle and was immediately asleep.

It was just past noon when he woke, hot and sweaty from sleeping in the daytime.

“You boys must have stayed up all night.” His father came in from the office to get some iced tea while Marc was pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes. He wished he had some more of Gramma's good cooking.

“Yeah, sorta,” Marc mumbled. He had hidden his dirty clothes under the bed. He smeared peanut butter on some soft white Wonder Bread, trying to keep it from tearing.

“I hope you didn't keep Mr. and Mrs. Sparks awake.” His dad squeezed a slice of lemon into his tea and added three teaspoons of sugar.

“No, we didn't.” Marc kept his answers short and pretended to be still half asleep. In fact, after he'd shaken off the heavy feeling from sleeping in the heat, he'd gotten so excited he could scarcely keep his secret. He wished he could tell his dad, but he wasn't sure how he'd react or what he'd say. He needed to share with someone—someone who would understand his feelings.

“Are we going to see Mama before Sunday?” he asked.

His father stood at the window, staring off into space. “Would you like to, boy?” he answered, finally.

Marc hated to admit he really wanted to visit Roy Clearwater just as much as he wanted to see his mother. But he'd give her a hug, talk for a minute. He figured it was his dad, not him, that she wanted to see anyway.

“Sure, why not? Let's go tomorrow. It's the middle of the week. If you aren't too busy …” Marc added, giving him a chance to back out.

“I'm never that busy. It's a deal.”

When he'd finished eating, Marc took a glass of iced tea to the back step and sat there thinking. Bluedog brought her ball and looked up at Marc with a twinkle in her eyes. Did she know they shared a great secret?

“Isn't it too hot to play, Blue?” Marc took the ball. Bluedog waited, dying for Marc to throw it so she could bring it back. “Guess not.” He tossed the ball to the back of the lot.

Weeds were getting high. Grasshoppers whirred and flew like popcorn popping when Bluedog chased the tennis ball to the corner of the fence. Maybe this evening he'd get out the scythe and cut the weeds. If Mama came home unexpectedly she would be disappointed in Marc and his father for letting the garden get into such a mess. But there was no chance of her coming home, so why bother? Marc didn't know why he even thought of it.

He heard Mooney's voice before he saw him coming toward the front of the house, Otis sauntering along beside him. What was Mooney doing at Marc's place? He didn't wait to see.

“Come on, Bluedog—come on, hurry!” Marc whispered to the dog, who held her ball for another throw. Grabbing his bike from the tree near the back door, he slipped it through the gate. Quietly he latched the gate shut. He and Bluedog were on their way down the street behind the house before Marc decided where to go.

He'd go talk to Mr. Daniels. He could talk to him in general without revealing their secret. It might help him decide what to do about their discovery.

“You must need something cold to drink, boy,” Mr. Daniels said, when Marc came into the cool, dim store. He had three fans going. They stirred up a lot of dust, but at least they kept the air moving.

Marc didn't mind Mr. Daniels calling him boy. It was a habit lots of people in this town had, talking to kids. Marc knew Mr. Daniels wasn't thinking of him as a nobody. But his dad had been calling him boy for so many months now, Marc figured he'd forgotten his name.

Mr. Daniels sat on a stool behind a counter, fanning himself. His shirt was soaked clear through around the neck with perspiration.

“I sure could use something cold, Mr. Daniels. Now that it's stopped raining, summer has set in for real.”

Mr. Daniels got two frosty RCs from the icebox in the back of the store. Marc pressed the cold bottle to his cheeks, then put his cooled hands to his neck. “Business slow?” Marc asked, to start a conversation.

“Pretty normal, I'd say. Relics are one of those things people can do without. Not many tourists corning here in the summer, either, on account of the heat. Can't say as I blame them. Fall and spring are better. I do a lot of my thinking this time of the year.”

“I've been doing a lot of thinking myself.” Marc eased into his subject.

“I've about forgot what a boy your age thinks on.” Mr. Daniels leaned back on two legs of his stool. He had pulled up an old wooden chair for Marc.

“Oh, I think about being in the woods, swimming, exploring, finding something good. If we found something and told Mr. Beslow, I figure he'd want to go dig it up, don't you?” Marc sipped the RC, feeling tiny drops fizz onto his nose. He tried to act as if he didn't care about the answer—as if he were just asking.

“I reckon. He'd probably want to take it to the museum at the university and look it over. Decide how long it had been buried, what Indians left it there. You figuring on finding something?”

Marc took a big swallow of the RC. Bubbles exploded into his throat and nose. He choked, then coughed until he got control. Mr. Daniels was looking at him kind of funny when he came up for air. Or was it Marc's imagination?

“I figure I could,” Marc said when he recovered. “It's possible, don't you think?”

“Anything's possible. Harder these days than when I was a boy. Sometimes I went down on the river bottoms and looked around. Picked up lots of spears and arrowheads that way. Awls and grinding stones. Graves were more often in some farmer's field.

“I wish I could have gone with you.”

“Then you'd be old like me, Marc. And you couldn't go looking at all.”

They both laughed, thinking about Marc being as old as Mr. Daniels. A peaceful quiet fell over them as Mr. Daniels teetered back and forth on his stool, and Marc listened to flies buzzing in the window behind him.

“How do you think the Indian people felt about your digging up their graves?” Marc asked finally. He badly needed an answer to that question.

“Don't reckon they cared much, seeing as how they'd been dead a long time. Don't figure they were standing around watching.” Mr. Daniels laughed at the idea.

Marc had a hard time laughing with him. “Where do you figure they are now, those Indians?” he asked.

“Well now, that's a pretty big question, Marc. And I don't reckon anyone knows for sure. Some people believe we go sit on a cloud and play a harp. Or maybe sit in a big kettle with fire burning around us. I can't rightly say I believe that, and I never took much to playing a harp. Others think we sit out there someplace waiting to come back. At my age I'm not sure I want to go around thinking about it too much.”

“Does it scare you, Mr. Daniels? Does dying scare you?”

“I'd be lying if I said it didn't, but everyone gets around to it in time. You know what they say—death and taxes …” Mr. Daniels took a sip of his RC. “Something we all get to do. What's got you into thinking about dying at your age, Marc? Your mama being sick? They don't think she's going to die, do they?”

“No. I guess she could, but she's getting better, I think. She has to stay in Boonville until she gets well. I was just thinking about it.”

Mr. Daniels nodded as if he understood needing to think about things like dying. They sat silently again. One reason Marc liked coming to visit Mr. Daniels was that they could sit together, keeping each other company, without talking. Marc liked sitting there surrounded by all the junk in Mr. Daniels's store. Sometimes he wandered from table to table, counter to counter, looking and daydreaming.

It wasn't the uncomfortable feeling of quiet like there was at his house right now. Mr. Daniels and Marc didn't need to talk; Marc needed to talk to his father, but he didn't know how.

“I wish I could talk to my dad like I can to you, Mr. Daniels,” Marc said finally. “He used to talk to me. We'd talk about relics and lots of things. Now he sits around all the time and acts like I'm not there.”

“I reckon he misses your mama.”