Puddlejumpers (16 page)

“Okay, Mr. Banks, your turn.”

Ernie self-consciously removed his shirt. When Russ got a look at the welts on the boy's back, his face flushed with anger but his voice remained calm.

“Brace yourself—here comes Mr. Smarts,” he gently warned as he dabbed the concoction on the boy's back. Ernie sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth.

“You got some first-class welts here,” said Russ.

“I've had worse.”

“This stuff is supposed to burn some, you know.”

Ernie just tucked his chin a little tighter.

“So what's your prediction on the Cubs this year?” asked Russ.

“They still need a left-hander in the pen, and one more big bat,” he answered, trying to ignore the pain.

Their conversation was interrupted when a crushed suitcase banged onto the windowsill. Joey popped into view with a grin. “Suitcase is shot but the clothes got a good press,” she reported.

Ernie found his pulverized Rocky Harmon wristwatch buried in the dusty clothes. “That old geezer busted my watch, too,” he said angrily.

“I'd like to kill those Holsapples!” chimed Joey.

“Whoa, now I don't want to hear that kind of talk, and I don't want you getting into it with the Holsapples,” said Russ.

“But if they're beatin' up on you, Russ, I'm gonna tussle,” she protested.

“You just go tussle with a telephone and call the sheriff. We stay clear from those people. They go their way and we go ours. Is that understood?”

She nodded regretfully.

“Ernie, that goes for you, too,” he added.

Ernie shrugged. Russ clapped a hand on his shoulder. “All right then, let's get you settled.”

Russ led Ernie and Joey into the old nursery. Ernie could see right away that some effort had been made to prepare for his arrival. Against the wall, just inside the door, was a wood-frame bed. Next to it was a small bedside table with a reading lamp and a vase of wildflowers with a few wheat stalks mixed in. There was also a ceramic pitcher shaped like a goose and a drinking glass. But what captured Ernie's attention was an old crib in the corner. Above the crib he noticed a faded photograph of a younger Russ with a baby in a back-harness holding a rattle.

“Joey and I spiffed it up best we could, but feel free to fix it so you're comfortable. Make yourself at home, that's the main thing,” said Russ.

Nodding, Ernie wandered over to the crib. It was empty, except for a folded red quilt. His gaze lifted to an elfin mobile attached to the rail. He fingered the empty woolen harness at its center. He was wondering what used to be in it when Joey broke the spell. “It ain't much, but it's all you paid for.”

“This your crib?” he asked her.

Behind Russ, Joey frantically waved her arms and shook her head, mouthing “No!” But it was too late. Russ answered, “The crib belonged to my son.”

“Oh. Where is he?” asked Ernie.

Joey shot him a punishing look.

Russ responded softly, “I lost him, Ernie, a long time ago. Maybe we'll talk about it some other time, okay?”

Ernie nodded.

“Well, I'll let you get settled. Just give a shout if you need anything. I won't be far,” said Russ. On his way out, he gave Joey's shoulder a squeeze.

She smiled weakly. As soon as he was gone she charged at Ernie. “Don't you got any idea what you're not supposed to talk about?!” she said in a disgusted whisper.

“How was I supposed to know?”

“I was giving you signals! Don't you pay attention?!”

Turning away, Ernie casually snapped a finger against each of the mobile's wooden elves. “How'd your dad ever lose your brother?” he asked.

“First off, Shawn wasn't my brother, and second, Russ isn't my dad.”

“Who is?”

“None of your beeswax.”

Ernie continued to snap each elf into orbit, as if that were far more interesting than the present conversation.

“You live here?” he asked.

“I live with my mom next farm over.”

“So what did happen to Russ' kid?”

“I told you we don't talk about it.”

Ernie stepped back to admire his work. Now all the elves were dancing by their threads.

“Who's stopping us?”

Joey shook her head in exasperation. “He got stole, all right?”

“Stole? Who stole him?”

She looked at him with disdain. “I'm not telling no rookie.”

Ernie raised his empty palms to Joey, snapped his fingers twice, waved his hands in front of her face, then reached behind her head to produce a set of keys. She stared in disbelief. The keys dangled from a black leather case embossed with gold double Hs.

“Harvey Holsapple's keys!” she exclaimed. “How'd you ever get 'em?”

Ernie stuffed the keys into his pocket. “Not telling no rook. Now why don't you just run along—I got stuff to do,” he said nonchalantly. He sauntered across the room and flopped onto the bed, only to wince in pain. He'd forgotten about those welts.

“You crazy Cubber—when Harvey finds out you pulled a fast one…“

“Hey, Rooster—stop crowin' about something you know nothing about.”

“I swear, you're the know-nothin',” said Joey.

“If you don't know what happened to Russ' kid, just admit it,” goaded Ernie. There was a long stare-down. Ernie thought she looked ready to burst.

“All right, already,” she finally said. “I'll tell it, but only this one time, and don't ever tell Russ I told you. Got it?”

Ernie wasn't ready to agree to anything. But he did want to hear the story, so he just nodded. It must have satisfied her, because she closed the door, then marched to the window and gazed outside.

“Okay, then. There was a big storm that night, rained like nobody around here had ever seen before or since. The sheriff found a trail comin' down through the field. He said it was a bloodthirsty gang of four, maybe five, broke right through this very window.” She abruptly threw open the window, as if to relive the awful crime. Intrigued, Ernie watched as she tiptoed to the crib, her voice dropping low. “They crept over to this crib and just…”

“Where was Russ?” interrupted Ernie.

“I dunno, somewheres else, outside maybe, and don't butt in,” she said impatiently.

“What about his mom?” persisted Ernie.

“Dead,” said Joey gravely.

“How?”

“You want to hear this story or not?”

He tried not to answer, but the look on his face gave him away.

“I thought so,” she said smugly. “So this gang just lifted baby Shawn Frazier right up.” She cradled the red quilt in her arms as she acted out the scene. “Took the whole shebang—his bottle, clothes, and all the toys laying around and the entire time this kid never made a peep, almost like he enjoyed getting stole.” She reached the window and pointed toward the fields. “Then they beat out into the wheat, and not even the sheriff's hounds could track 'em.”

Ernie joined her at the window to gaze out toward the great beyond, his imagination working overtime.

In a spellbound voice, Joey whispered, “Only one thing ever got found.” She thrust the quilt into his face and he flinched, despite himself. “This old quilt, up on the plateau.”

“Did they fingerprint it?” asked Ernie as he ran his hand across the soft red fabric.

“Did it all, everything, but all they got were raccoon prints.”

“And nothing else was ever found?”

“Nothin'. End of story. Around here we got to calling it ‘the Mystery of the Quilt Baby.'”

Ernie frowned. “A baby doesn't just disappear.”

“Quilt Baby did,” retorted Joey.

Ernie pondered the mystery. There was something about her story that didn't add up. “Did the sheriff find the quilt?”

“Pitch found it. She was Russ' dog.”

“Do you know where, I mean, where exactly?”

“'Course, but that's Holsapple property now.”

Ernie looked her in the eye, challenging her with an impish grin. Joey caught his drift and began to shake her head. “That is trouble, Mr. Cub. Big-time trouble.”

But the grin had crept onto her face, too.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Voyagers

E
RNIE TRAILED
J
OEY
across the yard to the corral. He felt like he'd escaped from jail, even if it was only for three weeks. Knowing he'd be back at Lakeside soon enough, he decided to put Chicago out of his mind and make the most of his time on the farm.

He wasn't sure what to make of Joey. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. For one thing, she was a girl, and there weren't any of those at Lakeside. But she was a good fighter and didn't mind getting dirty, plus he liked the way she stood up to Dicky Cobb and the Holsapples. Most important, he was pretty sure Mrs. McGinty would have hated her, which definitely counted for a lot.

At the corral, Joey ordered Ernie to hold Sassy's reins while she cinched the saddle. He reluctantly did as he was told and reminded himself that she was also bossy. He looked over at the barn, where Russ was working on the combine.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” Russ called. “Here goes nothin'.” He cranked the starter. The engine sputtered, then died. “God-zilla,” he cussed. “Hey, Ernie, you know how to fix an engine?”

Ernie didn't know what to say, so he looked to Joey.

“Dumb Cub—he's kidding,” she muttered.

“What are you guys up to?” asked Russ.

Joey whispered out of the side of her mouth, “I'll do the talking,” then called to Russ, “Ernie wants to get a look at the spread.”

“Great. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll take you guys around on the tractor.”

“But he wants to ride Sassy, Russ. We won't be long.”

Russ laughed. “All right, glad to see you two are coming around.”

Joey slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Yeah, I got him straightened out pretty quick.”

“Ernie, how about you and me take that tractor ride tomorrow, that is, if you can fit me into your schedule,” Russ joked.

“I don't know, Russ—he's pretty busy,” she answered, then whispered to Ernie, “C'mon, let's go!”

Ernie scaled the fence, then swung his leg over the pony's flank to sit behind Joey. She nudged the horse with her heels and Sassy broke into a fast trot along the drive. Ernie bounced up and down against Sassy's rump, his teeth clicking like a windup toy.

“Supper's in an hour,” called Russ. “I'm making my famous beef stew.”

“Don't forget the oregano,” reminded Joey. She started to gallop up the tractor lane.

“Stay away from Holsapple's now, you hear me?” shouted Russ.

“Act like you didn't hear him,” instructed Joey, but Ernie glanced behind anyway. He thought the man looked awfully lonely all by himself in the yard of his dried-up farm. When Russ waved, Ernie waved back. He could hear the distant sound of the combine engine sputter and die just before Sassy crested the ridge, galloping into the upper field.

When the pinto pony reached a split-rail boundary fence, she began to whinny and prance nervously. Joey nodded gravely at the wasteland on the other side of the fence. The entire surface had been strip-mined for coal, and now the scorched land seemed to suffer from a mortal thirst. Scattered across the vast expanse were tall derricks and noisy pumps that looked like prehistoric birds pecking crude oil from the earth. In the distance, a four-story stone farmhouse, with gabled windows, spires, and turrets, stood in the shadow of a sheer black cliff.

“Holsapple's,” said Joey.

Ernie just stared. He could hardly believe his eyes. Both the land and the mansion had a haunted look.

“It used to be a big old church, before Holsapple got his hands on it.”

“I never saw anything so creepy in my whole life,” he whispered.

“I know,” she agreed. “All this land used to be a big forest with a stream running right through it.”