Last in a Long Line of Rebels (14 page)

“You're right. I haven't given you enough credit. I promise to do better from here on out, okay?” He stood up. “Now, you want to help me weigh some of the scrap I just picked up?”

I nodded and followed him across the yard. I may not have aged much in the last few minutes, but I sure felt a lot more grown up.

“Slave quarters?” Benzer asked. “And no one thought to mention it?”

I took a long sip of my milk shake. We were at the Dairy Barn celebrating his baseball team's victory. “Surprise! This summer has been one big Whac-A-Mole game. Every time I poke my head up, I get hit with something new.”

Patty placed her tray on the table and motioned for me to scoot over. “You know what really stinks? If you save the house, you at least get something out of all this. I just get the shame of having slave-owning relatives.”

“C'mon, Patty. If you looked hard enough at any family, you'd probably find something bad,” Benzer said.

“Yeah, but there's bad, and there's slave-owning bad,” I said.

“I'm just saying the shame ought to be on the ones that actually did it.” Benzer stole a French fry from Franklin's plate. “What do you think, Franklin?”

“Sorry.” Franklin looked around. “I wasn't listening. I was thinking about the slave quarters and wondering if they'd help get Lou's house on the registry.”

I sat up straighter. “Oh, yeah! What do you think?”

He shrugged. “It can't hurt. I'll put it on the application.”

“But it's another place to search, right?” asked Patty. “Maybe the gold was hidden in there!”

“No,” I said. “Daddy said the building was moved board by board. If the gold had been there, it would have been found by now.”

Patty slumped down in her seat. “So back to square one.”

I pulled my notebook out and put it on the table.

The Verified Truth about the Mayhews

1. Ancestors of steel, according to Mrs. Hall.
   
2. Family has lived in the same house for 175 years.
   
3. Relatives sold off most everything at an auction.
   
4. WM may have been a thief.
   
5. WM wrote a letter to Louise telling her to be careful. (Maybe
   she
   was a thief too?)
   
6. The house will be demolished unless I figure out a way to stop it.
   
7. Walter may have killed Brody Kimmel.
   
8. The gold has not been found.
   

“We've learned something new, so that's something. Franklin, can I borrow your pen?” I quickly wrote out number nine.

1. Mama's studio used to be slave quarters.
   

Benzer stared at the list. “I wonder why he told her to be careful. Be careful stealing the gold, hiding the gold, or what?”

I pulled my copy of the letter from the back of the notebook, along with the photo Franklin had taken that day at the museum. “It could mean anything or nothing. There was a war going on, remember? He could have meant
be careful and don't get shot crossing the street
!”

“The old-school version of Whac-A-Mole,” Benzer said, laughing.

“Maybe we'll learn something useful when you get Neely's book,” Franklin said. “Unless you've changed your mind?”

“No!” I answered. “This is too important. No one is changing their mind.”

If any of them felt differently, they were too smart to say so.

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
September 1862

Olivia and I went to nurse Dode today. He passed out while chopping wood a week ago and still hasn't recovered. Molly and Lainey have been busy preserving what few apples the Union left us, and I fear Jeremiah and Singer make for poor nursing aides. I'd never seen inside their home, and had Dode been well enough to forbid us entry, I'm sure he would have. What is propriety at this point when we are all striving to live another day? I was shocked to see they had but one chair between them.

A
unt Sophie burst through the front door waving a pair of bridge tallies like pom-poms.

“Yoohoo, girls, I feel a small slam coming on!”

Patty rolled her eyes behind her mother's back, and I grinned. I was so excited I was practically vibrating. Tonight was the night!

“Lou,” Mama said, “I swear, you're about to climb the walls. What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” I put my arm around Patty's shoulders. “Is there a law against being excited to see my friends?”

Bertie was looking particularly nice in tight red capris, heels, and a soft yellow blouse. A little nicer than usual for bridge night, but still well within her fashion range.

“You look awfully fancy. Is tonight a special occasion?” I asked.

“I'm meeting someone for coffee later.”

I stared. “I thought y'all were playing bridge a night early because you had a date tomorrow night.”

Bertie grinned. “Is there a law against having two?”

“If there was, you'd be a felon by now.”

“Ha. You've got that right.” Car doors slammed outside. “Dot's here,” Bertie said, standing. “Let's get this show on the road.”

We went outside to meet the boys and Mrs. Kimmel.

“Franklin, what is that under your arm?” Mama asked.

“It's a telescope, ma'am.”

“Yeah, Mama, there's supposed to be this amazing meteor shower tonight.”

“Meteor shower?” Aunt Sophie asked.

“Yes!” I answered. “We were thinking about walking up Henson Hill watching for it. Would that be okay?” I asked.

Patty jumped in. “It's supposed to be awesome. They're supposed to be really close, closer than they've been in years, like, probably closer than they'll ever be—”

“We get the picture, Patty,” her mother said. “What time is this shower supposed to take place?”

“The paper said about nine o'clock,” offered Franklin. “The hill behind town would give us an unobstructed view.” He smiled, obviously proud for remembering the script.

“Lillian,” Bertie yelled, “the cards are dealt. C'mon!”

“Well, Lily, what do you think?” asked Aunt Sophie.

“I guess it will be all right,” my mother answered. “But stay on the sidewalk, and if you're not home by ten, we're sending out the National Guard.”

Patty saluted, and laughing, the four of us piled onto the front yard to wait for dark.

Huddled together under the giant oak, we went over the plan again.

“Okay, so we walk uptown to the antique store. You've got the key, right, Patty?”

“Right,” Patty said, pulling a silver chain from underneath her T-shirt. She dangled the key in the air proudly. “Mama never saw a thing.”

“Great,” I said. “You're a regular Houdini. Now, once we're in the store, we go to the side door that leads to the courtyard.”

“After first looking out the window to make sure no one from the inn is out there,” Franklin added.

“Right,” Benzer said. “Then, we go through the courtyard, and I'll climb the latticework up to the second-floor patio.”

“That's where I come in.” Franklin cleared his throat and straightened up to his full five foot three inches. “With my deepest voice, I call the desk and ask for George Neely. Benzer watches to see what room he comes out of, then while Mr. Neely is downstairs talking to me, he slips into the room, grabs the book, and scoots back down the lattice.”

“Piece of cake,” Patty said, “but I still don't know why we have to stay outside doing nothing.”

“We're not doing nothing. We've got to help Benzer back down the lattice and keep watch in case anybody comes out there.”

Patty pursed her lips and blew a curl off her forehead. “Why anybody would be outside in this heat is beyond me.” She raised one skinny arm and gave her armpit a sniff. “I'm about to become offensive.”

“Yes,” chimed Franklin, “about four years ago.”

I leaned against the oak, comforted by its familiar trunk, and listened to the sound of them fighting. The four of us together—that was how we'd spent bridge nights for as long as I could remember, and I loved it.

How would we hang out together if I lived in another county? My house wasn't the only thing at stake if we failed!

Taking care to walk the back streets, the four of us made our way to town. I felt excited and nervous and like I was about to come apart into a million pieces.

When we got to the back parking lot of the antique store, Patty took a deep breath. “Y'all ready?”

We nodded, looking over our shoulders.

“Here goes.” She leaned her neck down level with the doorknob, inserted the brass key, and turned the knob. The click was unmistakable.

“C'mon, we're in.”

“Hurry,” Franklin said as we scrambled in. “Where's the phone?”

Patty pointed to the wall. “It's next to the door, so you should be able to see us easy enough.”

I crept across the store to the opposite wall. “The door's right here. Benzer, pull the bolt.”

“Wait!” yelled Franklin, causing us to jump. “You forgot to look out the window.”

“Dude,” Benzer said, placing a hand over his chest. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.”

I stood on tiptoe and peered over the windowsill into the courtyard beyond. A couple of wrought-iron tables and chairs were scattered about, but no people.

“It's clear. Let's get this over with.”

Benzer and Franklin tugged on the dead bolt, and the door opened with a loud creak. Hugging close to the wall, we snuck across the empty courtyard, over to the lattice attached to the siding. Greenery grew up it in a thick mass, hiding most of the wood.

“I hope this isn't poison ivy,” Benzer said, moving the plant to one side and finding a place to hold. He put one foot on a horizontal section, pulled himself up, and balanced there for a brief second, before the piece broke under his foot.

“What the—?” Benzer blurted out, falling against Patty.

“Oww,” Patty whispered, rubbing her shoulder.

“Sorry.” Benzer pulled the ivy leaves apart. “Man, half of these cross sections are rotten.”

I pointed toward the back. “Try it over there.”

He put his weight on another crosspiece and crashed back.

“Now what are we going to do?” Patty moaned.

I stared up at the balcony. It looked about the same height as my upstairs window at home.

“I can do it,” I said.

“What?” Benzer asked. “Come on, Lou, I know this means a lot to you, but that's dangerous. You could seriously hurt yourself.”

I shook my head. “I'm not going to get hurt. I've climbed up and down our old oak a thousand times. Look, it's the only way. I'm the lightest one here, not counting Franklin, and we need him to make the phone call.”

“What about me?” Patty asked. “You're no skinnier than I am.”

“You're wearing platform sandals! They'll never fit between the lattice, and my shoes won't fit you.”

A door closed somewhere above us, and we grew still, listening. The hum of Friday-night traffic was the only sound.

I put a foot on the first horizontal piece I could find. Gingerly, I grabbed another cross section and climbed up. Nothing happened. “See, it'll hold me. You guys keep watch when Franklin goes in to make his call.”

Benzer just stared at me, shaking his head.

“Please,” I begged.

“Fine,” Benzer said finally. “But if you crack your skull, you can tell your mama what happened.”

“Deal,” I said, already climbing.

I made it to the balcony without any trouble and pulled myself over the railing. A sliding glass door led into the inn's second-floor hallway. I peered through the vertical blinds, satisfied that it seemed deserted. I gave it a tug, and it opened easily.

Stepping back to the railing, I looked down to see the three of them reflected clearly in the moonlight. I gave them the thumbs-up signal. Franklin gave me the signal back and ran over to the store.

I hunkered down, looking through the glass, while he made the call. A few minutes later, Mr. Kirby, the inn's owner, came up the stairs at the end of the hallway. He walked straight down the hall toward the balcony. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to see me, but at the last moment, he stopped. He knocked on a door to my left. A sign over the door read
MAGNOLIA BLOSSOM, #3
.

“Mr. Neely?”

A couple of heartbeats later, the door opened a crack.

“Yes, Mr. Kirby? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes. I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a phone call for you downstairs.”

The door opened wider, and George Neely stepped into the hall dressed in striped pajamas and a robe. He wore a pair of glasses perched on his gray head and the aggravated look of someone who had just been interrupted.

He put a hand over his mouth and coughed slightly. “Did you get a name?”

Mr. Kirby shook his head. “I'm afraid not. Would you like me to have him call back in the morning?”

“No, that's fine. I'll take it. Probably someone from the university, research-related—that sort of thing.”

I watched them disappear down the stairs, then I slipped quietly into the hallway. Just as we'd hoped, Mr. Neely had left his door unlocked while he went to take his phone call. I checked my watch again. Franklin had a list of questions and hoped to keep him talking for at least five minutes.

“Please let this work,” I whispered, and walked into Mr. Neely's room.

The room was small, and the wallpaper featured giant burgundy magnolias. A large four-poster bed took up most of the space. A velvet chair was sitting at an antique desk. Papers and books were strewn on top of the desk. I was so nervous I thought I might pass out on the Oriental rug.

I sorted through the books quickly. They were all related to local history in some way, but the
History of Grey County in Photographs
wasn't among them. Frantic, I began opening drawers and shuffling papers and stuff around. Just as I was about to give up, I found it on the floor, leaning against the desk. Grabbing it, I tried stuffing it into the waistband of my shorts. It was wider than I was, and I ended up turning it sideways and stuffing a corner in my waistband. My T-shirt stretched tight across the book, making me look like I'd swallowed a pizza—box and all.

The desk was a mess from where I had shuffled papers. I looked at my watch. Four minutes since I'd walked in. Quickly, I began to put the papers and books back as best I could remember.