Puddlejumpers (18 page)

Joey stood on tiptoes, holding the chest high, and Ernie was able to grab it. He curled at the waist and heaved the chest through the puddle into the tunnel. He again unfurled his body until he was looking at an upside-down Joey. “Okay, use me like a ladder, c'mon!”

She jumped up and grabbed his arms, but lost her grip and fell back into the chamber. It was then that Ernie glimpsed a shadow crossing in front of the beam from the abandoned flashlight. “Joey, quick, behind you!”

Screaming, she scrabbled full throttle up his arms and chest, frantically grabbing his shirt, ripping the collar and popping buttons, then clawed up his legs and disappeared through the puddle. When her hands came back through the water, he grabbed them and held on tight as she pulled him up into the tunnel, where they collapsed on top of each other. With hearts pounding, they grabbed the chest and their sneakers and scrambled toward the shaft of light. They tied the chest to the end of their dangling rope, then Joey, followed by Ernie, shinnied back to the surface.

On top, the noisy clatter from the pump was a welcome relief. In the fading twilight, they leaned over the hole and hoisted the rope until Ernie could untie the chest and shove it past the ratcheting arm. Timing their jumps, they dove past the iron tusk to the other side of the fenced enclosure. Without a word, they each grabbed a chest handle and raced across the scorched landscape toward the sanctuary of Frazier land.

At the open shaft, a tiny Puddlejumper clambered to the surface, followed by another holding a boy's dirty sock in his hand. Runnel and Root looked weary and tattered and parched. They'd been in search of water and were near the abandoned outpost at Red Moss Point when they'd heard the unexpected “Hooty-hoo.” Sniffing the air beneath the noisy pump, they watched, mystified, as the intruders fled across the field.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Rattled

I
T WAS DARK
when Joey and Ernie emerged from the wheat field to find a sheriff's sedan, three pickups, two cars, and a Jeep parked in the Frazier yard. They dismounted and put Sassy in the corral. Crouching low, they snuck between the vehicles, carrying their chest of unknown treasure. From inside the house, they could hear the sounds of heated adult voices.

“What's going on? Who are all these people?” asked Ernie.

“Neighbors,” answered Joey. “Probably more trouble with the Holsapples.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He's buyin' up all the land for his oil operation,” she explained.

Joey led past the porch to a storm-cellar door that angled almost flat against the ground on the side of the house. She flipped the latch and pulled back the door. They hurried down the cement stairs, silently closing the door behind them.

Joey flicked on a switch that provided a dim light from an overhead fixture. Against one wall was a workbench with a set of wrenches, assorted screwdrivers, and woodworking tools hanging on a Peg-Board. Glass jars containing screws and nails of various sizes were attached to the ceiling. There were shelves of canned pickles, beets, peaches, and plums in mason jars. Stored along the adjacent wall were a cake mixer, a high chair, a baby stroller, and cardboard boxes with the name
Dolores
written on the outside. There was even an old baseball glove, a bat, and an open box of dusty trophies in the corner. Ernie thought it smelled a little like the basement at Lakeside, only sweeter, more like old wood and fallen leaves.

They hurried to the workbench, where Joey tugged on a string to light a bare bulb dangling over the work area. Ernie placed their treasure on the coarse tabletop. Like two expert archaeologists, they studied their discovery with intense concentration. Though they could hear the rumble of adult voices overhead, they were too involved with the chest to care. The baby's face was carved in intricate detail, and under the light his mischievous expression came alive. Ernie tried to open the lid, but it was locked. He ran his fingers over the curves of the baby's face, searching for a hidden lock. He peered into its mouth.

“Wax,” he said at last.

“What?” whispered Joey.

Ernie opened the bench drawer and rummaged around until he found a pack of matches. He ripped out a match and lit it. Joey helped him tilt the chest upside down while he held the flame to the baby's lips. Wax dribbled down its chin.

“Quilt Baby's lips were sealed,” he whispered, then blew out the match. He wriggled a small screwdriver inside the baby's mouth until he heard a clicking sound. When he opened the lid, a few dandelion puffs floated into the air. Euphoric, they carefully examined the items inside the immaculate interior: a rattle, a baby bottle, an acorn cap, a mobile of hand-carved farm animals, a small belt made from bark with tiny pouches, a braid of wheat looped like a lasso, and a Snow White lamp.

Joey rattled around in the drawer for batteries. She popped two double AAs into the back of the lamp and the bulb lit beneath her skirt. “Good as new,” Joey whispered excitedly. She picked up the mobile and spun it while Ernie emptied the belt's pouches. There was nothing but dust inside. He pondered the rattle, even shaking it a couple of times. Suddenly he turned to Joey. “The picture!”

“What picture?”

Sticking the rattle in his pocket, he hustled toward the cellar stairs that led up into the house.

“Wait up!” said Joey in a hushed voice. She stuffed Snow White and all the baby things back into the chest, hid it beneath some burlap sacks, then hurried to catch up.

At the top of the stairs, Ernie cracked open the door and spied through a narrow slit. He had a clear view into the living room, where the sheriff, a pudgeball of a man with small eyes behind thick glasses and thinning hair on a round head, was doing his best to placate an agitated group of neighbors. A vivacious woman with long, brown hair and fiery brown eyes, in faded jeans and a red tank top, was laying into him with both barrels.

“That's bunk, Tom—this whole town is elbow deep in Harvey Holsapple's pocket, and you know it. Everyone in this room tonight has made complaints to you about any number of problems, but you haven't done squat about it.”

Joey gave Ernie a jab in the ribs and proudly mouthed the words “That's my mom.”

Sheriff Dashin was just as emphatic. “That isn't true, Betty, and unless you got hard evidence, you can't go around accusing that family of foul play.”

Betty's reply was sharp and quick. “Oh, yes I can, and it won't be the last time, either!”

At the cellar door, Ernie made his move. Joey grabbed his shirttail. “Wait!” she whispered, but he pulled out of her grip and slipped into the kitchen. Frustrated, she followed. They tiptoed down the hall until they had to stop at the entry to the living room. It was a large opening, and if they continued, the adults would see them. Ernie peeked into the room, waiting for an opportunity to cross and get to the crib room.

“What about Russ' combine, Tom?” blurted Emil Goetz. He was on the sofa next to his wife, Elsie, and their strapping son, Neal.

Joey whispered in Ernie's ear, “Before the drought, the Goetzes had the prettiest farm on the whole plateau—apple orchards in back, a string of cherry trees…”

“Shhh!” Ernie ordered.

The pudgy sheriff seemed to have an answer for everything. “A blown engine ain't no crime in itself and you know it.”

“Like hell it's not,” fired Betty. The room erupted with angry accusations.

Tugging Ernie's shirt, Joey urged, “Now's our chance, let's go!” She shoved him forward, but just at that moment Russ spoke and the room fell silent. Retreating abruptly, Ernie bumped into Joey. Wincing, she rubbed her forehead as they crouched in their hiding spot.

“Listen, folks,” said Russ. “We've had rough years before and always found a way to make it. Let's just stick together. We've done it before and we'll do it again.”

“Fine and dandy,” said Emil gloomily. “But who's gonna fill my wells? Who's gonna make it rain? Russ Frazier?”

“C'mon, Emil—you're not going to sell the land your folks worked and their folks before that, are you?”

“With this drought, I'll be lucky to get ten percent of what I planted.” Emil tried to say it matter-of-factly, but his voice cracked.

Elsie took her husband's hand. “It's not just the drought, Russ. We're sick of the strong-arming and the threats.”

Flushed with anger, old Doc Thorpe set down his coffee. “Jack Voisine's not here tonight, but just last week I treated him for two cracked ribs and a broken thumb. He was afraid to file a complaint, but I'm not.”

In the hall, Joey pressed against Ernie, whispering, “That was Dicky Cobb and the twins, no doubt about it—the sheriff acts like a big shot, but he never does diddly.”

“Sorry, Doc, but Jack Voisine will have to speak for himself,” said the sheriff. “I'm open for business at eight sharp. If he wants to file charges, he knows where to find me.”

“No, Tom,” he said. “I suspect where he'd find you is up at that monstrosity they call a house, drinking Harvey's coffee. Isn't that where you start your day?”

The sheriff laughed, though his face reddened with embarrassment. “That's a good one, Doc. Monstrosity—I'm gonna write that down.”

“Here's the thing,” said Gramp Atwater. “Those dollars Holsapple's offering are nothing to sneeze at.” He was on the love seat next to Eleanor, his wife of forty-five years.

“Oh, Dad, please,” pleaded Betty. “Not you, too.”

Joey was back in Ernie's ear. “Those are my grandparents. They're really old.”

Ernie shushed her again, keeping his attention on the room.

“What you don't know, Betty,” Gramp continued, “is they were out to our place this morning.”

“Ours, too,” added Neal Goetz.

Ernie was running out of patience. Motioning for Joey to get low, he crawled past the opening. She followed, scurrying across the floor. When they got to the other side, Ernie spied back around the corner. Russ was staring straight at him and he looked none too pleased. Ernie expected he'd be cleaning the bathroom and maybe the kitchen, too. He thought Russ was about to come over, but Joey's grandfather started talking, and Russ stayed put.

“We just can't keep up anymore,” Gramp said sadly. “Gram and me are thinking, what with the debt growing every year and now this drought…it might be time to get out of farming altogether.”

“There's a way out of this, John, and we're going to find it,” assured Russ. “We can't let ourselves be intimidated by the likes of the Holsapples. We're not quitters.”

Ernie figured there was no time to waste. He hustled to the door at the end of the hall, with Joey on his heels.

In the living room, Russ tried to make eye contact with Gramp Atwater, but the old man refused to meet his gaze. He turned to Betty. “We'll fight back, we'll help each other.”

She nodded her agreement, but the others just stared at the floor.

The crib room was dark. Joey wanted to turn on the overhead light, but Ernie insisted on using the matches so they wouldn't attract attention. They went directly to the old photograph hanging on the wall. Ernie struck a match, then compared the rattle from the cedar chest to the one baby Shawn held in the picture. The decorative pattern was identical—farm animals in alternating colors of pink and blue. Ernie gave the rattle a shake as if to punctuate their discovery.

“One and the same,” he whispered as the match burned out.

They hadn't noticed that the voices in the living room had shifted to the kitchen. A sudden knock and the overhead light came on. They spun around to face Russ standing just inside the room.

“What's going on in here?” he asked. Ernie's shirt was ripped and missing most of its buttons. He was wearing only one sock, and there was dried blood on his chin. Joey's knees were scraped and the smell of sulfur from a burned match was in the air. “Are you guys okay?”