The Buried Book (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

Did he drink much? Ever lose his temper?

It was past ten o’clock when Wayne and Jasper slipped out of the bedroom window, landing on the grass with two soft thumps.

“Why are we doin’ this again?” Wayne hissed after they’d scuttled away from the house.

“This Sheriff Bradley guy might know where my mom went.”

“He isn’t gonna talk to you. He’s liable to just whip us both, or arrest us. The Tally Ho ain’t a place for kids.”

They scrambled up the two-track drive and out onto the side of the road. The half-moon shone high overhead, lighting their way down Harris Road all the way to Route 25. Uncle Leo and Jasper’s dad had left about an hour before them.

“You know where it is though, right?”

“Yeah, it’s just up and around the corner.” Wayne stopped to light a cigarette with a wood match. “I still say this is nuts.”

He handed it to Jasper. After the last experience, Jasper knew better than to inhale the smoke. Instead, he just sucked it into his mouth and blew the cloud out again. “I don’t want to go inside. I just want to see if we can hear anything.”

“Alright, but like I told you, anybody sees us, it’s every man for himself. I’m gonna skin out, and I ain’t waiting for you. Got it?”

Jasper nodded.

They walked in silence for several minutes until Wayne finally asked, “Where do you think she went?”

“I don’t know . . . somewhere, I guess.” He didn’t want to say his greatest fear aloud—
she must be dead then.
He also didn’t want to admit she’d disappeared before. She’d leave in the middle of the night, or sometimes she wouldn’t come home from work at all. But she’d always come back the next day. Her eyes would be red, her hair would be a mess, and she wouldn’t say a word about it. She’d just go to her room and fall asleep. His father would tell Mrs. Carbo that Jasper’s mother was sick or had to work late and ask her to watch him.

Mrs. Carbo.
He hadn’t thought much about the big round woman since he’d come to the farm, but he missed her. Her hands were tough and thick from kneading bread all day, and she smelled like stale cookies. She always had a smile for Jasper, but her eyes went sad whenever she looked at him too long. It made him worry there was something wrong with him. He would go quiet and avoid looking back at her. If he did, she might hug him in her big, suffocating arms until he wriggled free. Mrs. Carbo was probably wondering where he’d gone.

Hundreds of stars gleamed overhead. It felt as though they were watching the two boys as they made their way toward the main road. If Jasper had been in a better mood, he would have stopped and stared back in wonder at them all. He’d never seen more than three stars at a time through the smog of the city. Even the moon looked brighter, a searchlight hanging over the dirt road.

Wayne finished his cigarette and ground it under his boot. “You think she’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” Jasper shook his head. It had been only five days since he’d seen her, but it felt like years. “She’s never been gone this long.”

In the past, after his mother would reappear, he would try to pretend like nothing had happened. Once she was done sleeping, she would be sad.

Jasper, honey. Come here.
She’d grab his two small hands and squeeze them.
Let me look at you. You alright?

He would nod. He had to be careful not to cry. If he cried, there was no telling what she’d do. Sometimes she’d cry too. Sometimes she’d get furious and begin screaming at him. One time, she left again. So he would nod and not cry.

Let’s go get some ice cream.
That was usually her answer for it. One time she took him to buy a new baseball glove. That was after she was gone for two days. If she were to come back now, Jasper had no idea what she’d give him.
Maybe a new bike,
he thought bitterly.

“She really as crazy as Pop says?”

“What do you mean? What’d he say?”

“Uh, you know. Stuff,” Wayne mumbled as if he’d changed his mind about discussing it.

“Like what stuff?”

“I don’t know. He’s always goin’ on about what a wild one she was growin’ up. Always gettin’ in trouble. I think she might’ve been the one that burned down the old house.”

Jasper stopped walking. “I thought you said it was wild Injuns!”

“Shh!” Wayne stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Jasper by the arm.

“What?”

Wayne pointed up ahead. A large furry creature crossed the road a hundred feet ahead of them. It was long, bushy, and low to the ground. They stood frozen until it had disappeared into the cornfield on the other side.

“What the heck was that?” Jasper whispered.

“Looked like a fox. Good thing the chickens are fenced in.”

“A fox? They ever . . . attack people?”

“Only shrimpy nine-year-old boys.” Wayne chuckled and socked him in the arm.

“Real funny.” Jasper punched him back as hard as he could. He hadn’t liked what Wayne had said about his mom. He wanted to ask why he thought she’d burned down the house, but a pair of headlights passed along in front of them about a quarter mile up ahead. They were close to Route 25.

“That’s the Tally Ho.” Wayne pointed across the dark wheat field on their right to what looked like a large house with all the windows blazing. “If we want to get there unseen, we’re gonna have to cross the field.”

Jasper nodded, trying not to think about the fox they’d just seen coming from that direction. Wayne climbed down five steep feet into the ditch that ran along the right side of the road.

“Come on. We gotta cross here.”

The moonlight didn’t reach the bottom of the ditch. Jasper had to find his way blindly down the edge. Muddy water seeped into Jasper’s boot as it sank down into the muck. He tried to step out of it and pulled his foot right out of his shoe.

“Shit!” he hissed.

“What?”

“Lost my shoe.”

“Well, find it, dummy!” Wayne was already at the other side.

Jasper felt around in the mud until he felt the stiff leather cuff. He yanked it out of the muck only to land his socked foot right back in again.

“Will you stop monkeying around down there,” Wayne whispered.

Jasper scrambled up the other side of the ditch, holding his shoe. By now his sock, his pant leg, and the shoe were completely caked with mud.
Damn it.
There was no hiding dirty laundry from his aunt. “How am I going to explain this to your mom?”

“You’ll think of somethin’. Come on, Agent J. Do you want to complete this spy mission or what?”

Jasper blinked the tears back and limped after Wayne through the wheat field in one shoe, stopping every now and then to rub his filthy boot on the long stalks. “They must hate me,” he muttered.

“Who?”

“Your mom and dad. They didn’t want to have to take care of me. They must really hate that I’m here all the time now.”

“Don’t be dopey. You’re family, Jas . . . like a little brother. You know, I had a little brother once.”

“You did?”

“Yep. I was a little younger than you. Ma’s belly got all fat. They didn’t say nothin’ to me about it, but I could tell. It was just like when old Sally had her first calf. There was something in there besides food, you know. Then Ma got real sick one night. They sent me away to Mr. Sheldon’s for a few days. When I came back, the belly was smaller. Then it just went away. They never told me what happened, but I knew.”

“What happened?” Jasper had stopped walking.

“It died. Somethin’ was wrong with it and it died. I saw it happen once with pigs. Ten pigs came out all wriggly and pink, and the last one came out gray and still. Pop buried that one in the orchard . . . Ma never said a word about the baby, but she was sad for a real long time.”

Jasper put his head down and kept walking. Suddenly his muddy sock wasn’t such a big deal.

“So you see, I think they’re happy to have you come stay for a while.” Wayne threw an arm around his shoulder, and this time Jasper let him.

The Tally Ho was just a big house with a hand-painted sign hanging above the door. It faced Route 25, with a large gravel parking lot off to one side. There were three pickup trucks and a tractor sitting on the lot. Yellow lights and chattering voices spilled out of the open windows into the warm night outside. There was a pair of windows on the other side of the house away from the parking lot. Wayne and Jasper crept up and sat under them.

“Clint! Tell Ronnie here how you picked the name Tally Ho!” a voice called from a table not far from the window where they hid.

“You don’t know that joke?” a deeper voice asked. “You see, one day a rich Yankee sailed all the way to merry ol’ England to go fox hunting with the gentry. So he mounted up his horse, and they had one hell of a hunt. Got three foxes, and our dear Yankee shot two of ’em. So imagine his surprise when during the feast after, no one would talk to him. He’d go into a room, and they’d all leave. No one would sit at a table with him. Finally, he’d had enough and asked, ‘Why are you gentlemen being so rude? Didn’t we have good hunt?’”

“I love this part. What’d they say?” the first voice asked with a slight slur. The entire tavern had gone quiet in anticipation.

The barkeep put on a thick British accent. “Dear, sir. When we spot a fox, we say, ‘Tally ho!’ We do
not
yell, ‘There goes the son of a bitch! Let’s git ’im!’”

The entire bar erupted in laughter. Even Wayne and Jasper snickered out under the window. A few voices shouted “Tally Ho!” and glasses clinked together. In the uproar, Jasper decided to risk a peek inside. It was a large, smoky room with eight wood tables scattered about and a bar with five stools in the corner. His father and Uncle Leo sat on two of the stools next to a bigger man Jasper didn’t recognize. A fat, balding man with a thick mustache was stacking up glasses behind the bar. Half of the tables were empty, including the one pressed against the window. Jasper moved out of the square of light on the grass and watched from the shadow.

His father drained a beer stein and raised a finger to order another. Uncle Leo’s glass was still mostly full. They were clear across the room, with their backs turned. There was no way to hear what they were saying.

Jasper crouched back down and whispered, “I can’t hear. I’m going to the other window.”

“What are you crazy? All the cars! Someone might see you.”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Wayne shook his head but said, “I’ll stay here and keep a watch.”

Jasper nodded in agreement and crept around back to the window closest to the bar. There were no bushes to hide in from the parking lot, so he did his best to stay in the shadows. As he approached the window, he heard his mother’s name.

“Althea? Nope, I ain’t seen her in . . . jeez, must be at least a year. She’s still a wild one, huh?” It was a voice Jasper didn’t recognize.

“Nah. Just goin’ through a rough patch.” It was his father talking now. “Had a little trouble at work, I guess. She hasn’t been there in a week. Never did trust that boss of hers. Wouldn’t put it past him to try somethin’.”

“He wouldn’t be the first.” The voice laughed.

Uncle Leo and his father didn’t say anything, and the laugh fell flat. Jasper risked a peek inside the window. The man talking was wearing a tan shirt and a badge. He had a full mug of beer in his hand.

“Althea never did seem to take to workin’ much. You remember, Clint, back when she was waitressing over at Steamboat’s? What was it, thirty-one or thirty-two? That night she blew up the still? I thought he’d shoot her for sure. Place about burned to the ground.”

“The still?” his father asked.

“Oh, back then everybody was making up their own mash. Prohibition and all. Course I wasn’t the law back then.” The man chuckled and drained half his glass. “Turned out she was better at drinkin’ it than makin’ it. Wasn’t she, Leo? I don’t know how she got herself out of that one. Didn’t hurt she was such a looker, though.”

Uncle Leo slapped his mug on the bar. “That’s my sister you’re talkin’ about, Cal.”

“Hey. Take it easy, Leonard. You know I don’t mean nothin’ by it.” The sheriff held up his hands. “Besides, she’s a married woman now. You could go over and talk to Big Bill yourself, but I’m sure he ain’t seen her in years. Last I heard he’s runnin’ a roller rink down in Burtchville.”

“I thought he ran the creamery.” Uncle Leo did not seem amused.

“He pawned that off to his son. Or a cousin maybe. I can’t remember. That family of his is into everything.”

A hand grabbed Jasper by the shirt. It was Wayne. He yanked him behind the building just as the door slammed open and two men walked out.

“Hey! Who’s there?” a voice shouted after them. “Didya see that? Looked like kids.”

“So what?” a second voice slurred. “C’mon, Ronnie. Let’s get up to Black River while we’re still young.”

Jasper and Wayne took off running through the field of wheat into the dark.

CHAPTER 9

What about your mother? Was she a drinker?

Three nights later, something Wayne had said out on the road came back to Jasper uninvited. His eyes flew open in the dark. “Hey, Wayne?” he whispered.

“Hmm?” His cousin was half asleep.

“What did you mean the other night? When you said my mom might’ve burned down the old house?”

The shadow of Wayne sat up in the bed. “What?”

“Outside on the road. You said she might’ve burned down that old house,” he repeated in his quietest voice, not wanting to wake his aunt and uncle.

“All I know is that Pop said Aunt Althea ran off after it happened.”

“She ran off?”

“Disappeared.”

“Disappeared? For how long?”

“He didn’t really say.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Knock off all the chatter!” a voice boomed from the other room like a strap to the back. “Get to sleep, boys.”

Both boys flopped back down. Wayne’s feet were at Jasper’s head, and his were at the older boy’s belly. After several minutes of silence passed, Wayne answered in a barely audible voice, “All I know is she didn’t come back again until you were born.”

Then there was nothing but the sound of Wayne breathing and the chirp of crickets outside the open window.

Jasper’s father came back the next weekend to play catch. Jasper could tell from the sag of his shoulders and the tired look in his eyes that he hadn’t found her. Jasper overheard him explain to Uncle Leo that he’d taken on more shifts at the plant before handing over an envelope. His uncle tried to hand it back, but his father wouldn’t take it.

Wendell didn’t say nearly as much to Jasper. He just asked, “You behavin’ yourself? Stayin’ out of trouble?”

Jasper nodded.

“School starts in a week. You do what Wayne says there, understand? I don’t want to hear a bad report.”

“Yes, sir.” Jasper threw him the ball and studied the knots in his baseball glove. It was the same glove his mother had bought him the year before when she’d left the house in the middle of the night.
Don’t you worry, Jasper. I’ll always come back for you. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Okay. I promise.
She’d wiped a tear and said it again.
I’m not goin’ anywhere.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask his father, but all of them would mean admitting that he’d been eavesdropping. Most would prove he and Wayne had sneaked out that night and listened under the windows of the Tally Ho, so he said nothing.

His father didn’t stay over that night, and there were no visits back to the tavern. He’d already left to go back to Detroit when the right question finally popped into Jasper’s head. “Can we go roller-skating?”

There weren’t many chances to ask that question in the days that came next. Uncle Leo and Wayne spent twelve hours a day working the fields, harvesting hay. Even Aunt Velma came out of the house and pitched in.

Jasper mostly rode the rear bumper of the tractor while Wayne drove the giant green machine up and down the fields, pulling the mower and then the rake. Uncle Leo followed behind it, raking loose cuttings into windrows and sneezing.

“Is Uncle Leo sick?” Jasper asked Wayne after he’d cut the engine at the end of a row.

“Nah. Just allergic.”

“To what?”

“Hay . . . Kinda funny, right?”

Uncle Leo walked up, wiping his face with a wet handkerchief. His eyes and nose were running and beet red. “That’s enough for one day. Wayne, take the tractor back to the shed. Jasper, go water the cows before supper. I’m gonna finish up here.”

“Yes, sir,” both boys said in unison.

Jasper raced across the cut hay field toward the barn. He filled each giant water dish so quickly he splashed half the bucket on himself, but he hardly noticed. He threw the pail back onto its nail and dashed back to the far corner. He glanced over his shoulder before pulling his mother’s diary out from its hiding place between the siding plank and the girt.

His eyes traced her name several times before attempting once again to read the first entry.

August 1, 1928

I’m going to die here . . .

Jasper stared at the word
die
, not sure if he was reading it right. “Die?” he whispered. He looked at the date again as he always did. His mother had been fourteen.

“Whatcha doin’ in here?” a voice called from the barn door. It was Wayne.

Jasper spun around, hiding the book behind his back. “Uh. Nothin’.”

“Oh, yeah?” Wayne smirked and walked over to him. “What’s that you’re hiding?”

“None of your b—”

Wayne whacked Jasper’s arm before he could finish. The diary went flying, landing just outside the pigpen. Poor Roy snorted at it and walked to the other end of the pen like nothing had happened.

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” Wayne picked up the book and turned it over. “What is this?”

“None of your business!” Jasper yelled and swiped at the diary in his cousin’s hand.

“Where’d you find it?” Wayne asked, holding the book high over Jasper’s head and thumbing through the pages.

“It’s mine, dammit! Give it back!”

“It’s your mom’s,” Wayne stated the obvious and then finally looked down at his cousin flailing his hands. “Can you read it?”

Jasper’s arms went limp. “No.”

“Do you want to? I can help.”

Jasper frowned, thinking about it. “I don’t think she’d like that very much.”

“So? She’s not here. C’mon. I’ll show you.” Wayne sat down with his back to the side of the barn and ran his finger under each word.

August 1, 1928

I’m going to die here on this farm.

Jasper reluctantly squatted down beside him and followed his cousin’s dirty fingernail as it navigated the page.

It’s already happening. I can feel it in my bones. Every day is the same awful routine. Milk the cows, wash the dishes, clean the laundry, haul the water, feed the pigs, weed the garden. There’s no end in sight! I’m supposed to keep slaving away day after day until what, I ask you? Until I get married to a sweaty, sunburnt, dirt-poor farmer of my very own? I’m amazed my mother hasn’t dropped dead a hundred times already.

If I stay here, my fate is sealed. Mama doesn’t even want to send me off to high school. She says there’s really no point in it anyway. What good would it have done her? She says once Pearl is married off, she’ll hardly be able to manage even with my help. Then she gives me that disappointed look of hers, and I know what she’s thinking.

My mother never really wanted me. I was the last one born, and I can see it in her eyes whenever I don’t dry a dish the right way or miss a weed in the vegetable garden. She figures she should have stuck with three. I figure she should’ve run screaming from the start.

But instead, I get to be the unlucky, unwanted, unnecessary number four. It’s like I’m that ugly weed I didn’t pull today, that prickly flower that hurts your hands when you yank it from the dirt. I’m not a hearty potato like Alfred. I’m not a hayseed like Leonard. I’m not a lovely, little daisy like my older sister, Pearl. I’m a weed.

It’s only a matter of time before they find some excuse to pull me up and throw me away. That would suit me just fine. I’m so tired of being rooted here in the dirt. I’d stow away on the creamery cart to Burtchville just to escape the ever-loving smell of manure. No matter how many times you wash, you can never seem to lose the stink of it on your hands and clothes. It just gets under your skin. Papa might call it the “smell of money,” but to me, it’s all just shit.

Wayne let out a low whistle. “You better not let Pop find this.”

Jasper agreed. His mother’s bad language would earn them both a whipping just for reading it out loud, but it was still his best hope of finding her. “Will you keep it a secret for me?”

“No problem, kid.” Wayne tousled his hair. “C’mon, we’d better get cleaned up for supper.”