Gib and the Gray Ghost (3 page)

“Oh yes, I’m pleased. Mighty pleased, ma’am,” Gib said. Before Miss Hooper left she pointed out the alarm clock on the chest of drawers, and the cord that turned on the electric light, and reminded him that dinner was at five-thirty. Her voice was sharp as she said, “Don’t you be late, now. And remember to turn out the light when you leave the room.” Her thin lips flicked upward in what, for just a moment, came close to being an honest-to-goodness smile before the phony frown returned. Nodding sternly, she said, “Good to have you back, Gibson. Very good indeed.”

Gib grinned and said, “It’s good to be back.” And then, imitating Miss Hooper’s frown, he added, “Very good indeed.” Miss Hooper went on frowning but her twisted lip and raised eyebrow said she got the joke.

Gib waited only until Miss Hooper’s footsteps faded and the door of her room squeaked open and clicked shut before he took a last quick look around and left the room. Almost running now, but very quietly, he went down the hall and the back stairs and out toward the barn. Toward the barn and Black Silk.

I
NSIDE THE BARN THE
light was dim, but the air was full of scent and sound. The warm, spicy odor of horse, and the contented rustle and munch of feeding time. Gib breathed deeply and then hurried on, past Comet and Caesar, stopping only long enough to notice that Hy had rubbed them down, at least a little. Busy with their hay, they only flicked an ear when he called their names, before they went back to eating.

Next came Hy’s old cow pony, Blue Lightning. The old blue roan was busy eating too but when Gib spoke to him he raised his head, took a step or two toward the stall door, and then snorted softly and went back to his supper. Gib grinned. “Okay for you, you old rascal. Didn’t miss you that much either.”

The next stall was Black Silk’s. By the time Gib reached it she was already at the door. Even in the fading light he could see that she really was as beautiful as he remembered. High crested, short backed, and long-legged, put together just right for speed, and purely black except for the three white feet and the diamond blaze on her forehead. Nodding and nickering, she reached out eagerly toward Gib, her eyes white-rimmed with excitement. Gib opened the stall door, slipped inside, threw his arms around the mare’s neck, and buried his face in her long mane.

He stayed there for a quite a spell, while Silky shoved his shoulder with her velvety nose and nickered questioningly. When he was sure he had control of his voice, he began to talk to her, telling her how glad he was to see her again, and how purely gorgeous she was. The most beautiful horse in the whole world, he told her, but then, standing back a way to get a better look, “But not the best groomed, and that’s for sure. Looks like you could use a good currying.” Silky nodded and nickered as if she understood, and Gib chuckled, remembering how much she’d always liked that old currycomb scratching the itchy places on her withers and back. He checked her feet to see if they were in good shape, and he was just telling her that her hooves surely could use a good picking too, when somebody giggled.

Gib could tell that Olivia Thornton really hadn’t grown that much in the three months he’d been away, judging by how much of her face he could see over the stall door. “Hey, Livy,” he said.

“Hey yourself,” Livy answered. Then she giggled again and asked, “Well, what did she say?”

For a second Gib really didn’t know what she was talking about. “What did who say?”

“Silky.” Livy sounded impatient. “I heard you talking to her. So I imagine she must have been answering?”

Gib grinned. “Course she did. Said she was right glad to see me again. Said nobody’s been taking care of her since I’ve been away.”

Livy frowned. “Well, she’s lying then. Hy’s been grooming her. And I helped. At least I did right at first. But then, after my father got so sick ... She shrugged and looked away.

“Hey,” Gib said, feeling mortified that he’d made Livy remember about her dead father. “I was just teasing. She’s looking great.” He opened the stall door. “ ’Cept for her feet. I was just heading down to the tack room to get the hoof pick. Thought I might—”

“You better forget it,” Livy said. “At least for now. It’s almost suppertime. That’s why I came out here. I knew you’d forget about eating once you saw Black Silk.” She opened the locket watch that hung around her neck on a gold chain. Turning the watch face toward Gib, she said, “See, already a quarter past.”

“A quarter past?” Gib really was surprised. He’d barely have time to get washed up. He turned back long enough to give Silky a good-bye pat and tell her, under his breath, that he’d see her first thing in the morning, before he followed Livy out of the barn.

Livy kept looking at him as they walked across the yard, but if he looked back she tossed her head and turned away. Gib had to squelch a smile, thinking how, in spite of all the changes, some things were pretty much the same. It wasn’t until they were going up the back steps that Livy said, “Wait a minute. Before you go in I want to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Gib stopped on the bottom stair. “Tell me. I’m listening.” He pretended to be opening a locket watch and staring at it. “But you’d better keep it short. Looks to be just about suppertime.”

She frowned fiercely. “You stop teasing, Gib Whittaker. This is serious.” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you ... I just wanted to say I’m ... I mean, I hope you don’t blame me for getting you sent back to that awful place.”

Gib was pretty surprised. Shaking his head in amazement, he said, “I don’t blame you. Never did. You didn’t know your father was going to come home early and catch you riding Black Silk. Or that he was going to blame me for putting you up to it.”

“I know. But it wasn’t your fault. You told me not to try to ride her unless you were there, and I said I wouldn’t. But then you and Hy were so busy for so long and I just got too impatient and ...

“I know.” Gib shook his head slowly, remembering how Mr. Thornton had come home in the middle of the day and how Livy, excited and maybe showing off a little, had let the mare get out of hand. “But it wasn’t your fault either.” He thought a minute and added, “Or Silky’s. She didn’t mean any harm. But I can see how your father would be real worried because of what happened to your ... Noticing the look on Livy’s face, he let his voice trail off.

“All right, say it. Because of what happened to my mother.” Livy’s voice was quick and sharp. “But what were you going to say about my father?”

Gib could see he’d better rein in a little. “Wasn’t his fault either,” he said quickly. “It must have really scared him the way Silky was acting up. And for good reason too. If you’d been throwed on that hard-packed ground out there, there’s no telling what might have happened to you.”

Livy shrugged. “You don’t have to stand up for him. Nobody does anymore. Not even me.” Stomping past Gib, she went on up the stairs and into the house.

By the time Gib had finished at the washing-up trough, Livy was already in the kitchen, helping Mrs. Perry put things on the table. She didn’t look at Gib when he came in. And another thing she didn’t do was speak to him, not once during the whole meal.

At the table that night Gib learned that no one called Livy’s mother Mrs. Thornton anymore. Miss Hooper usually called her just plain Julia, and Mrs. Perry called her Mrs. Julia. Hy had taken to calling her Mrs. Julia too, except he made it sound more like Missus Julia. Gib wondered if all widowed ladies got their names changed like that or if it had something to do with what Livy meant when she said nobody stood up for her father anymore. But whatever the reason, Gib liked the sound of Missus Julia right well, just the way Hy said it.

That night after Gib had used the flush toilet, and flushed it twice just for practice, he had a bath in the claw-foot tub. Lying there in the big shiny white tub in lots of warm water, he thought, first of all, about things like flush toilets and electric lights. He hadn’t been lying when he told Miss Hooper that he knew about things like that. Not that there’d been such things at Lovell House. At least not for the orphans to use. But he’d seen lots of electric lights and used a flush toilet too, back in the days when Mrs. Hansen was still alive and the best readers sometimes got to visit the Harristown Library.

It wasn’t until his bath was over and he was in bed in his own room that he let himself think about more serious matters.

He thought first off about Jacob and Bobby and his other friends at Lovell House, wishing there’d been time to tell them good-bye, and wondering if he’d ever see them, or even hear from them again. Not likely, he told himself sadly. Not with Miss Offenbacher reading all the Lovell House mail and throwing most of it out. Losing Jacob and Bobby was a sorrowful thought, but at the moment there was another question that was even more troubling.

Lying there in the November chill, tucked in warm and cozy under plenty of quilts and blankets, Gib realized that the most troubling question was what Gibson Whittaker was now. Was he, for instance, still just an orphan farm-out to the Thornton family? Or was he really going to be a part of the family? Or maybe something kind of in between?

Thinking about being adopted made him smile ruefully, thinking of how, now and then, he’d seen a lucky little orphan being toted off to be a real part of a family. Real
little
orphans, they were for the most part. Usually still infants, or no more than toddlers. He couldn’t help grinning a little when he pictured Gib Whittaker, a long-legged almost-twelve-year-old, being toted out wrapped in a new blue blanket.

But he stopped grinning then, thinking how most likely he was back at the Rocking M to be exactly what he’d been before: a farm-out orphan whose job it was to help poor old bum-legged Hy take care of chores around the barnyard. Exactly like it had been before, except that he was now living in the big house instead of Hy’s tumbledown old cabin.

But Hy was living in the big house now too, and had been since the roof blew off the bunkhouse. And Hy was definitely hired help, so that didn’t really prove anything. In fact the whole upstairs was a lot like a bunkhouse now. A bunkhouse where nothing but hired help lived. Hy and Mrs. Perry and now Gib Whittaker, orphan farm-out.

Then again, there had been the feeling tonight that it was sort of a special occasion. Like the supper Mrs. Perry had ready for them. It was in the kitchen as usual, instead of in the grand dining room, but the table had been set with dining room china, and there had been all kinds of great food, including peach pie, Gib’s favorite dessert. It didn’t seem likely, Gib told himself, that they’d go to that much trouble for a farm-out.

Supper had been different in other ways too. For one thing, there was a lot more talking, and a lot of it had been done by Hy. Gib remembered how one of the things Hy had told him on his very first night at the Rocking M was that the hired help were expected to be
quiet
at the dinner table. Being
quiet
obviously was a rule that nobody cared about anymore. But that difference, Gib decided, probably had a lot more to do with Mr. Thornton’s absence than with Gib Whittaker’s presence.

When he came to think about it, however, there was another small sign that tonight had been a special event, and that was Livy’s locket watch. It seemed to Gib, if he was remembering correctly, that she never used to wear it for just an ordinary day. For churchgoing on Sundays maybe, or if company was coming, but never on a day when nothing important was going to happen.

Gib was still arguing with himself, stacking up all the good signs against the bad ones, when his thinking began to blur some, and the next thing he knew, it was morning.

W
HEN THE ALARM CLOCK
went off its jangling clatter scared Gib half to death. Sitting straight up in bed, he stared around him expecting to see—he didn’t know what. A row of metal cots full of sleepy orphans, most likely. While he was still fumbling at the clock wondering how in tarnation you shut the durn thing off, he couldn’t help chuckling a little at how he’d bounced himself straight up, as wide-eyed and jumpy as a spooked horse. He found the shut-off switch then and flopped back down under the covers for a minute. Just long enough to get his hackles down and his wits together.

So—it hadn’t been a dream after all. Not a hope dream like the ones he’d had as a little kid when, halfway between waking and sleeping, he used to imagine the family he’d someday belong to. And certainly not one of the crazy scenes your mind trots out when you’re too sound asleep to care about making sense. Nope. This room was as real and solid as a rock. There he was in a fancy wooden bed under a slanty roof and surrounded by walls covered in flowery paper. It had to be the truth. He really was back at the Rocking M. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was five-thirty. Just about the time he and Hy had always started the milking and feeding.

Sliding out into the cold air from under the heavy warmth of the blankets, he struggled quickly into his clothing. He tiptoed down the stairs, picked up his mackinaw, and was out the door before he had time to think about what the five-thirty alarm meant. What it meant was—nothing had changed. Just like before, Gib Whittaker, orphan farm-out, was expected to be out of bed and out doing morning chores an hour and a half before breakfast was put on the table.

Hy was already in the barn. “Well, howdy there, pardner,” he said as Gib came in. “I been waiting fer you. Right glad to have you back on the job.” He didn’t have to say that Gib should climb the ladder into the hayloft and throw down the hay while he took care of the water buckets and the oat pails. That was the way it had always been.

Back in Silky’s stall after the feeding was finished, Gib barely had time to tell her hello and get started with the currycomb before Hy said, “Awright buckaroo, come along now. Grooming can come later. We got to get them chickens fed and the milkin’ done faster’n lightnin’ or we’ll miss out on breakfast.”

But when Gib left off combing, Silky nudged him away from the stall door. “Look,” he said, “she doesn’t want me to go.”