Gib and the Gray Ghost (2 page)

And then there was Olivia too. Actually he was only guessing that seeing Livy again was something to look forward to. With Olivia Thornton you never knew. He reached into his pocket and brought out the bookmark she’d sent him by way of Miss Hooper. Holding it close to his chest so Hy wouldn’t notice, he stared at the picture, sure enough painted by Livy herself. A picture of someone riding a beautiful black horse. The horse was probably meant to be Black Silk, and the rider ... ? Gib chuckled silently. Livy wasn’t much of an artist and the person in the picture could have been almost anybody. Except that the mysterious rider did have long yellow-brown curls and long eyelashes. Gib couldn’t help wondering what the picture meant, because nearly everything Livy Thornton did turned out to mean something. But even after a body had figured out the meaning, there were usually a lot of leftover questions that didn’t get answered. Actually, thinking about seeing Livy again was one of the things that made Gib sympathize with that trapped mouse. With any poor critter who found himself running around in circles without knowing why he was doing it

And there were other confusing turns his mind kept taking. As when he asked himself what it would be like going back to live at the Rocking M, now that Mr. Thornton was gone. Would he still be living in Hy’s old bunkhouse and working as an orphan farm-out? Or would things be different now without Mr. Thornton, who’d refused to adopt Gib way back when his mother died, and who wouldn’t even have taken him on as a farm-out, if poor old Hy hadn’t needed help because of his broken leg.

Two or three times as the long flat miles spun past, Gib got himself almost ready to ask Hy or Miss Hooper a few questions, but he never could find words that wouldn’t seem pretty cheeky. Words like “Am I still going to be a farm-out, or am I going to be really adopted this time?” Just thinking about asking such an audacious question made Gib’s face heat up, and probably turn red too, in spite of the cold prairie wind.

But at last, just as the river was coming into view, he came up with a question that didn’t seem quite so cheeky. Turning toward Hy, he said, “Guess I’ll be staying in your cabin, like before?”

“What’s that?” Hy asked, and when Gib repeated what he’d said, Hy laughed his honking laugh before he turned to Miss Hooper. “Hear that?” he said. “Wants to know if he’ll be sleepin’ in the bunkhouse tonight. Thought you said he’d been told about the bunkhouse.”

Miss Hooper’s ferocious scowl was back again. “Are you telling me you never got
that
letter either?” she snapped. “I declare, that Offenbacher woman ought to be arrested for interfering with the U.S. mails.”

“You sent me a letter about Hy’s cabin?” Gib asked.

“Yes, in part,” Miss Hooper said. “About a number of things, actually. But I distinctly remember mentioning in one of my letters that the cabin’s roof had pretty much disappeared during that high wind we had last summer. Hy’s been living upstairs in the big house since then, and you will be too. Perry and I have a room all made up for you.” The pretend frown was back again as she said, “Nothing fancy, mind you, so don’t be expecting too much, but at least it will be all yours.”

All yours. That was another thought that had Gib’s mind spinning during the last few miles before the turnoff. As Caesar and Comet picked up the pace without even being asked to, now that they were close to home, Gib turned over the thought of having a whole room all to himself. How would it feel to go in a room all by yourself and close the door and know that no one else was going to open it unless you told them they could? Gib was still exploring the idea when right there above the road was the wooden sign showing the Rocking M brand. And a couple of minutes later the tall shade trees, the shingled roof, and then the wide porches of the ranch house came into view.

While Hy was still pulling the team to a stop in front of the veranda, Gib jumped down to help Miss Hooper. First of all she had to unwrap herself very carefully from all her robes and blankets. When that was done she started to climb very slowly down the buggy’s steep steps, stopping now and then to mutter something under her breath about the long, cold ride and her aching back. By the time she finally was on the ground, the team was stomping and fretting, eager to get to the barn, and Gib was feeling pretty much the same way. Eager to get to the barn, and to Black Silk. He was hurrying as he folded Miss Hooper’s lap robes, tucked them over her arm, and handed down her pocketbook. But when he started to climb back up beside Hy, Miss Hooper grabbed him by the back of his coat.

“Where do you think you’re going, Gibson Whittaker?” she asked. When Gib said he was going to help Hy put the team away, she went on, “Oh, no, you’re not. Not until you come in and say hello. Come in and see the family first. Human beings come before horses, boy, at least for civilized people.”

“That’s right,” Hy said. “You run along and see the ladies. I been taking care of these fat rascals all by myself ever since you got sent ... He paused, grinned, and then changed to, “Ever since you left us. One more night ain’t going to kill me.”

Gib felt embarrassed. He knew Miss Hooper was right, but as he followed her down the path and up the stone steps he told himself that it wasn’t just seeing Black Silk that had been on his mind. He’d been thinking about poor old stove-up Hy too, and how he really could use some help with the team. That’s what he told himself, anyway, but he didn’t tell Miss Hooper because he was pretty sure she’d say it was a good story but she didn’t believe it. Gib couldn’t help smiling a little as he admitted, to himself at least, that he didn’t quite believe it either.

T
HERE IT WAS AGAIN,
the old ranch house, looking just as solid and everlasting as it had the first time he’d seen it As Gib went up the broad front steps he put out his hand to touch one of the fat stone pillars that held up the veranda roof, letting his fingertips remember the rough, long-lasting feel of it. A few more steps and there in front of him was the familiar door with its panels of stained glass.

“Well, don’t stand there staring, boy,” Miss Hooper was saying. “Open the door for me, like a proper gentleman.”

Gib jumped to do as he was told, but once inside the wide entry hall he froze again, caught up in a whirlpool of memories. Recollections not so much of the house itself, but of things that had happened there. Things like studying in the library with Miss Hooper as teacher, and with Olivia Thornton as fellow student. And the day he’d stood all alone at the library window just watching while the rest of them went out to admire the family’s new Model T. Lost in the memories, he stumbled after Miss Hooper as she stopped, once to peer into the parlor, and then again to hang up her wraps on the hall coatrack.

“Gibson,” she said impatiently, “your coat. You can hang it here.” Watching him closely as he struggled with the stiff buttonholes in the new mackinaw, she went on, “Hurry along, boy. You seem to be all thumbs today. They’re probably waiting for us in the library.”

It was then, as the library door opened and the sound of familiar voices drifted out, that Gib realized that his heart was pounding and that something swollen and heavy seemed to be stuck at the bottom of his throat. His feet had gone clumsy and awkward too, so that he stumbled a little as Miss Hooper shoved him ahead of her into the room.

There they all were, looking the same, and yet strangely different. It took a moment for him to realize that part of the alarming difference was only the color black. Black for mourning. Mrs. Thornton, in a high-necked black dress, looked a little paler perhaps, but as elegant as ever. Actually it was Livy, sitting on the sofa with a book in her lap, who seemed to have changed the most. As if a plain black dress instead of ruffled and pleated pinks and greens had suddenly changed a rambunctious eleven-year-old into a proper young lady.

The color black seemed to be everywhere. Even Mrs. Perry, whose dress and apron were flowery gingham, had a black mourning band on her right arm.

They were all looking at Gib. Staring as if they’d never seen him before, or anything like him. Waiting, no doubt, for him to do or say some expected thing. Gib gulped, tried to swallow, and wondered frantically if there was some special way one was supposed to behave around ladies in mourning. Or perhaps something one was supposed to say. The way one said “congratulations” or “many happy returns” for other kinds of special occasions.

Gib was still gulping when Miss Hooper said, “Well, here he is. Rescued by yours truly from the clutches of the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Everyone else laughed, and even Gib managed to smile a little, and for a moment, that helped. Gib was just about ready to say hello and how sorry he was about Mr. Thornton’s passing on, when Mrs. Thornton held out her hands.

“Gib, dear,” she said as she pulled him down beside her wheelchair and gave him a quick hug. “How wonderful to see you again.”

It was the hug that did it. Gib’s eyes went hot and wet and the lump was back in his throat so big that he nearly choked on it. He stared down at the carpet, feeling tongue-tied and witless, and when he did manage to look up, the amused expression on Livy’s face didn’t help at all. But then, once again, Miss Hooper came to his rescue.

Taking over, just as firmly as she’d done in Miss Offenbacher’s office, she pushed Gib toward a chair. “Sit here, Gibson,” she said. “For just a minute.” Then she turned to the others. “Gib and I will have to go freshen up soon, but it looks like Delia has something good and warm on that tray, and that’s exactly what we need. Came close to perishing of the cold in that buggy. Didn’t we, Gib?”

As Gib sat down Mrs. Thornton was saying, “Olivia, dear, could you clear away some of your books so Mrs. Perry can put the tea tray on the table? And Delia. Please sit down and have a cup of tea with us while we all get reacquainted with Gibson.”

Then there was the choice of tea or coffee, and cream and sugar, to talk about, and the unusually cold weather for the beginning of November, and how long the trip from Harristown had taken, and after a few gulps of coffee Gib’s throat began to relax enough to at least say things like “Yes, ma’am, the wind was right out of the north. Hy thinks it might be fixing to blow up a blizzard,” and “No, ma’am, I didn’t know Miss Hooper was coming to get me. Not till she showed up.”

After that it got easier, because with four talkative ladies in the room, Gib didn’t have to say very much. And also because it soon became obvious that it already had been decided that it was too soon to talk about anything important. Anything like why Gib was back at the Rocking M, and what might be going to happen next.

And then it was over. Mrs. Perry went back to the kitchen, and Livy went over to crouch beside her mother’s chair and whisper in her ear. To whisper and nod, and whisper again, while she watched Gib out of the corners of her eyes. Talking about him, Gib felt sure, or at least pretending to. But then Miss Hooper was ushering him out into the hallway and up the front stairs.

The upstairs in the big house was brand-new territory for Gib. He’d been well acquainted with the kitchen and library, and once or twice Livy had let him peek into the dining room and parlor. But he’d never been down the long hall that led to the new wing of the house, where the Thorntons lived, or up the stairs to the second floor.

At the top of the wide front staircase Miss Hooper led the way down a hallway decorated with striped wallpaper and framed photographs. Lots of old-fashioned pictures of carefully posed families, and then one of a slightly familiar-looking man on horseback. The man was wearing a wide grin and fringed chaps. And the horse, which in the photograph looked to be a light sorrel with a flax mane and tail, was something really special.

Miss Hooper noticed Gib staring at the picture. “That’s Daniel Merrill,” she said. “Mrs. Thornton’s father.” Gib wasn’t surprised. Something about the shape of the man’s face and the high arch of his eyebrows made him think of Mrs. Thornton. Still looking at the photo, Miss Hooper nodded approvingly. “Good man, Daniel was. Built the Rocking M up from a couple of homestead holdings into one of the biggest ranches in the state.”

Gib hung back, wanting to ask questions. Questions about Daniel Merrill, and maybe about the sorrel too. But Miss Hooper hurried him down the hall. She pointed out the upstairs parlor and opened the door so he could peek inside. It was a grand-looking room with lots of windows, elegant furniture, and beautiful flowery paper decorating the walls. Gib had never seen anything like it.

“I know,” Miss Hooper said in answer to his appreciative gasp. “Very nice, isn’t it? Used to be the Thorntons’ room until Julia’s accident.”

“The accident? On Black Silk?”

“Yes, of course,” Miss Hooper said. “That’s when the new wing was built, because of the wheelchair.”

They went on then past the door to Mrs. Perry’s room, and past the room which, ever since the windstorm, had been Hy’s.

There was a bathroom too, with a claw-foot tub and a washbasin. And next door, in a closet-sized room, a flush toilet. Miss Hooper demonstrated by pulling the chain. “You know how to use this?” she asked Gib.

Gib felt his face getting hot. Looking down at his feet, he mumbled, “Yes, ma’am. I know, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s good. Didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Miss Hooper sounded amused. “But I wasn’t sure, since the bunkhouse was a bit short on indoor plumbing, and I can only imagine what the facilities were like at Lovell House.”

As they went on down the hall Gib bit his lip, thinking how much he hated it when his face got red like that. When it “flushed” like that, he thought and then grinned, thinking how this time his face had, sure enough, been flushed.

But then Miss Hooper was opening a door at the end of the hall and he forgot about flushing faces and toilets too. Set back under the eaves, the room was smallish, all right, with a slanty ceiling and just one little window. But there were a closet and a chest of drawers, and best of all, instead of a metal cot, a real bed with headboards and footboards made of wood: Real wood, as dark and shiny as a bay horse. Standing in the middle of the room and turning in a slow circle, Gib didn’t realize he was smiling until Miss Hooper said, “Well, as I told you, it’s not grand, but you seem to be pleased.”