Puddlejumpers (33 page)
In the upper field, Ernie listened, transfixed, to the sound of the distant voice.
“Hooty-hooooo! Hooty-hooooo!!”
Then he was running, running as fast as his legs had ever run, running through the wet wheat as the calls echoed closer and closer. He stopped and searched the sloped field, but all he saw was a steady rain. Suddenly a man appeared on the crest of the ridge, calling,
“Hooty-hoooo!”
Ernie had waited a lifetime for this moment, and now he shouted the one thing that mattered most. “Dad!”
Russ shouted back, “Shawn!”
Father and son sprinted toward each other with all their might until they clung in a tight embrace. All around them the rain pattered the earth in a jubilant song.
S
O IT REALLY WAS
Ernie Banksâwell, Shawn Frazierâwho brought back the rain and ended the drought, just like he'd promised. That fall, thunderstorms danced up and down the Warbling River plateau every afternoon, and the wheat was restored and the earth turned green once again.
Of course, Shawn hadn't done it all by himself.
On the morning it started to rain, Sheriff Dashin caught wind of trouble on the Holsapple property and went to investigate. He nosed his squad car to the shore of an expansive turquoise lake with a giant oak tree at its center. Its trunk had grown another hundred feet and it towered over the water. Stupefied, he stepped from his car. There wasn't a trace of the derrick wasteland or the Holsapple estate. He waddled to the edge of the lake, where he stooped to fish Harvey Holsapple's ebony cane from the shallows. He was scratching his head when his car abruptly sparked to life and crept toward the lake. He tried to stop it, but his cruiser pushed him backward and he stumbled into the drink. Sputtering curses, he surfaced just in time to see his precious squad car gurgle a last time before disappearing beneath the water.
The mystery of the Quilt Baby was never completely solved, but the authorities were able to answer most of the who, what, where, and why of it all. Most folks were shocked to learn that the Holsapples were kidnappers, but they'd never liked them much anyway, and people just figured they got their due. Neither they, Dicky Cobb, nor any of the oil riggers were ever seen again.
For the second time in his life, Shawn became a celebrity. Television crews arrived from all over the state and led off their evening newscast with the story of a kidnapped boy returning to his father after thirteen years.
At Lakeside, Mrs. Annie McGinty choked on her morning coffee when she read the story on the front page of the
Chicago Tribune.
The headline blared, “Young Ernie Banks Hits One Home.”
Trucker Joe Beason laughed out loud when he read the article in the
Chicago Sun-Times,
“The Miracle of Lake Holsapple.” It had to be the same Ernie Banks he'd picked up during that blizzard ten years before. When his pregnant wife, Shona, warmed his coffee, he showed her the story and, for the very first time, told her about his part in it all.
The day Shawn Frazier returned, life on the Warbling River plateau changed forever. In the weeks and months that followed, tourists continued to travel old Highway 99 to see the turquoise lake and its giant oak tree. In town, business was booming. The Sinclair station was refurbished and the Trading Post became a popular stop again. Gram and Gramp Atwater bought the old Turkey Roost and reopened it as the Oak Tree, featuring Gram's homemade pies. It became so popular that on Friday and Saturday nights the line to get in stretched all the way to the post office.
As it turned out, Russ was able to keep the farm, and Shawn got his old room back. Joey got the extra room down the hall and a new brotherâthat is, after Betty and Russ got married. The ceremony took place on the shore of Lake Holsapple, and everybody was invited. Shawn stood proudly next to Russ as his best man, while Joey, her mother's maid of honor, never stopped smiling.
There hadn't been much to celebrate in a good long while, but that day, people made up for lost time. In the midst of the eating and drinking and dancing, Betty, still in her wedding gown, led Russ, Shawn, and Joey down to the lake for a swim. People laughed and applauded, and before it was over, the whole town ended up in the water. It was a night to remember.
Shawn never saw Mrs. McGinty or the Lakeside Home for Boys ever again, though he and Russ did make the trek to Chicago to look up Nate and his family. It was a reunion both friends had thought would never happen. Nate and his dad joined Shawn and Russ for an afternoon game at Wrigley. During the seventh-inning stretch, singing with their fathers, Shawn and Nate shared a wide grin. They didn't have to say a thing.
The Cubs beat the Giants twelve to one, and because Russ knew the pitching coach from his days with the Mud Hens, Shawn and Nate each got an autographed ball signed by the whole team. Afterward, Russ invited Nate's family out to the farm, and Mr. Goodman promised they would come. Shawn reminded Nate to bring his suit for a swim in Lake Holsapple, which he swam in every day, rain or shine.
Before the Fraziers started back for home, Shawn showed Russ where the old tenement was and told him about his hideaway up on the roof. They talked all the way back to Circle. He wanted to tell his dad every detail of his adventures with the Puddlejumpers, but knew he couldn't. So he told what he could and left out what he had to.
Shawn settled happily into life on the farm. But every day when chores were done, he would search the barn and the fields and the woods for any sign of the little ones. No matter how hard he looked or how many times he shouted
“Hooty-hoo”
he never saw them again, not the slightest trace. Of course he tried stomping in every puddle he could find, but without his Spiral Tattoo, a puddle was just a puddle.
The next year, on the first day of the autumn harvest, Shawn and Joey stayed home from school to help their parents. With all the rain, the wheat had grown tall and the earth had ripened in extravagant, sun-swept colors. Russ said it was going to be a very good year.
It was early morning, and the sun hovered at the crest of the ridge as Shawn finished milking Beulah. He left the barn with a brimming pail, which he carried to the edge of the ripened wheat. His eyes searched the fields for a sign but, as usual, there was nothing. He sighed, then reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out his pocket watch, and popped open the dented lid. It was 6:25, almost time for breakfast. He dipped some milk from the pail with a small mason jar, then strolled into the field, his free hand skimming the bearded wheat stalks. Like every other morning, he set the jar carefully on the ground, then cupped his hands and called,
“Hooty-hoo!”
Only the wind and the chirping birds answered him.
Kicking the dirt, Shawn trudged out of the field. That's when he saw it. There, leaning against the milk pail, was his original Ernie Banks baseball card. The last time he'd seen it, the card had been ripped into a dozen pieces. Now it was put back together like an old jigsaw puzzle.
Shawn picked up the card and smiled from the inside out. It was like meeting a long-lost friend in an unexpected place. He cupped his hands and was about to cry out again whenâ¦