The Wayward Gifted - Broken Point (21 page)

The man looked at Sam. He put his book
down. He reached across the desk, taking Trista into his hands before Sam
realized what was happening. Trista remained motionless. Sam wondered if she
should grab Trista and run.

The man examined Trista and then looked
at Sam. He placed the doll back into her hands. He stared at Sam for what felt
like several minutes before speaking. “I can see what you have here. Are you
new in town?”

“What do you mean? Why do you ask?”

“My name is Mr. Felphul. I.M. Felphul,”
he pointed to the sign above the door. “I’ve never seen you here.”

Sam nodded. Mr. Felphul reached into
his pocket, unwrapped a piece of hard candy and put it into his mouth. “This is
my bookstore. First time visitors are usually here for a football game—or
they’re new in town.” He shook his head, “There’s no football game today.”

Sam nodded again, “We just moved here.
That’s my little brother,” she pointed towards the front of the store where
Steuart continued climbing and looking at books. Her voice began to shake, “Did
we do something wrong? We weren’t trying to do anything wrong.” She touched her
backpack.

“No.” Mr. Felphul shook his head.
Biting his candy he stopped and looked at Trista and then at Sam. He leaned in
as closely as possible without getting up from his chair. “Sam,” he whispered,
“your doll is nice.”

Sam nodded, “She is.”

“What you have here is a treasure.”

“Thank you,” Sam pulled Trista close.

“There are people in Maybell who would
love to get their hands on this doll. These dolls are quite special and unique.”
Mr. Felphul looked towards Steuart. “Little brother came from Ivy’s?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lowered her head.

“You need to understand that Miss Ivy
is one such...”

“One such?”

“One such,” Mr. Felphul nodded.

“One such?”

“Exactly.”

Steuart continued looking at books. He
stepped down to browse a lower shelf and then climbed across to pull a book from
the other side. He paid no attention to Sam or Mr. Felphul.

Sam asked again, “One such
what
, sir? Miss Ivy is one such what?”

“Just that...” Mr. Felphul replied,
“one such.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Mr. Felphul leaned in again, this time
he lowered his voice. “She is one such who would like to get her hands on your
doll.”

“Oh, she already saw my doll.”

Steuart climbed over to pull down
another book. This was closer to the front of the store and up a little higher.

Mr. Felphul leaned back in his chair,
laced his hands across his stomach. He pursed his lips, shook his head and raised
his left eyebrow. He looked over his glasses at Sam, “You are fortunate that
doll is still in your possession.”

“Fortunate?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Does little brother
have one too?”

“His name is Steuart, sir.” Nervously,
Sam asked “One what?”

“Doll—does little brother have a
doll?”

“Steuart?” Sam asked with extra
emphasis.

“Steuart.” Mr. Felphul nodded, “Does
little brother Steuart have a doll too?”

“Yes, he does, but we don’t call them
dolls.”

“What do
we
call them?”

“The Wayward Gifted, sir. Steuart has
Ed Camino.”

Mr. Felphul leaned closer. Well, I’ll
tell you Sam, these dolls are hard to come by. I know these dolls. Only special
people are given these dolls.”

Sam pursed her lips. She looked at her
brother and then at Mr. Felphul. “So, you know they’re real?”

“Real?”

“Alive,” Sam said believing that Mr.
Felphul understood. She wanted him to tell her what he knew. “Do you take care
of any of them?”

Mr. Felphul was silent. Fearing she had
said too much, Sam bit her lip and held her breath. Mr. Felphul stared at Sam. Sam
showed no expression and stared at Mr. Felphul. Trista did not move. Steuart
continued looking at books and making notes.

Mr. Felphul smiled. He almost laughed.
“Oh, my, you have quite the imagination little Sam.” He removed his glasses,
wiped a lens, and chuckled as he put them back on his head. “I understand why
you were given a doll. You have a true creative gift.”

Mr. Felphul stood, turned, and then
motioned Sam towards a hallway. He invited her to “Come on back. I’ll show you
what I have.”

Sam stood silently. She looked at the
dark hallway.

Mr. Felphul continued, “I think we have
something back here that will work fine for you and your doll.”

Sam turned and looked towards Steuart
who was still looking at books. She looked again at Mr. Felphul, and again down
the long, dark hallway. Mr. Felphul turned away from Sam and began walking towards
a door. Sam followed. Again, she turned and looked towards Steuart. She could
feel Trista’s arms wrapped around her hand. Sam stopped. She stood back. Mr.
Felphul opened the door to a room that was as dark as a cave. He walked inside,
“Join me?”

Sam gasped and backed away.

“I prefer to stay out here.”

Mr. Felphul flipped the light switch
and pointed towards a wall of cigar boxes. Sam relaxed, but remained in the
hall. “These are perfect,” she whispered. “How much are they?”

“Seven-fifty each.”

“No,” she shook her head. “That won’t
work.”

“No?”

“We’ve found them and now we can’t
afford them. We don’t have enough money.”

“How much do you have?”

“Together, or separate?” Sam looked towards
Steuart.

“Together.”

“Less than five.”

“What about books? Do you have any
books you might like to bring in for a trade? If we can come up with a trade,
you can keep your money.”

Sam smiled, “Oh, yes, Steuart does
too.” Sam and Mr. Felphul talked about her books and came up with an agreeable
figure. She considered trading her copy of
Right,
Good, and Appropriate.
“Do you accept books that have been signed?”

“By the author—always!”

Sam shook her head, “No, I was talking
about a book that has an inscription—a gift.”

“It depends on the book and the
inscription. Is the signer famous?”

“Only in her mind.” Sam looked away, “I
shouldn’t trade that one anyway. I might get into trouble. I have plenty of
others.”

“I’m curious about your need for the
boxes,” Mr. Felphul asked. “What are you going to do with them?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Not sure? Why are you buying them? Who
buys something without knowing the intended purpose?”

“They’re not for us. The dolls made a
request.”

Mr. Felphul chuckled and nodded, “I
should have known. It’s a secret?”

“Exactly. They didn’t give us the
reason.”

“Let’s look through this stack and see
what we can come up with. You like pretty colors?”

“I collect them. I love colors. I have
this folder. It’s where I keep my swatches. Do you have anything this color
red?” Sam opened her folder and pulled out a red that she liked. “I think
Trista would like this one.” She turned, looked at Steuart and asked, “Are you
okay out there? Do you want me to choose a box for Ed?”

“Go ahead. I’m finding new words.”

“Does Ed have a color preference?”

Steuart shook his head. “I think I’ve
found my new favorite place in town.”

“What color do you want for Ed?”

“Anything—but no pink.”

Mr. Felphul looked through several
stacks and showed Sam various options. “What about this one? Do you like this?
Is this color close?”

“I think that one has too much orange.
Can we continue looking?”

“Sure. We’ll look until we find one you
like. These dolls must be important to you. I’m curious to know more. How’d you
come by them?”

“Our doctor gave them to us.”

Mr. Felphul stopped and listened.

“That’s not right,” Sam corrected
herself. “He didn’t give them to us. He lent them to us. We’re using them. We
play with them at home and take them with us to appointments. Do you know Dr.
Klesel?”

“Oh, yes, Maybell’s a small place. I
know almost everyone. That’s why I asked if you were new in town. I’ve known
the good doctor for years.”

“He’s very smart. We like him a lot.”

Mr. Felphul nodded.

“Does he buy books here?”

“Yeah, he buys, and he sells books from
time to time.”

“We call him the Shark Yeller.”

“Shark Yeller? That’s an odd name, care
to explain?”

“It’s an anagram. I’m Samantha Leigh
DuBoise—ghoulish abased inmate.”

“Where will you use that one?”

“Halloween,” Sam nodded.

“It’s definitely good for ghosts and
goblins. Are there any others you like?”

Sam frowned, “Imaginable head
shout—none of mine are very interesting.”

“I like anagrams too. Unfortunately,
some work much better than others.”

“I like yours.”

“It doesn’t provide many options, but I
find that it works well for my profession.” Mr. Felphul picked up a cigar box,
lifted the lid and looked inside. “And, purists might argue against it.” He
held the box for Sam to see. “I’m serious about your need to be careful with
these dolls. My friend Ceil lost one several years ago. She never found it. You
should be cautious.”

“Ceil Nunstern?”

“Yes, do you know Ceil?”

“She’s our friend. We play in her tree
house. Ceil had a doll?”

“Now that I think of it, I may be
confusing her with someone else. You know, perhaps I’m thinking of another
customer.”

“But you said Ceil Nunstern.”

“I know what I said, but I was wrong.
Maybell’s a big place.”

“It’s not that big. Besides, you just
said it’s a small place.”

“
SAAAAMMMMMM!”
Steuart called out to his sister. Books flew in multiple directions as he
reached for the closest shelf. Steuart hit the floor with a loud
thump.
 
The room became silent. Steuart let out a
groan. Sam and Mr. Felphul raced to the front of the store in time to see Della
Ivy at the window. She turned and walked away. They quickly turned their
attention to Steuart who lay on the floor holding his arm. “My arm, my arm.”

“Don’t move him.” Mr. Felphul looked at
Steuart, “Don’t move. I’m calling for assistance.”

TWELVE

Olivia
pulled Sam out of bed before the sun was up.
“Dress quickly. We overslept.”

Sam yawned, “Yes, ma’am.”

“We should be in the car now. If we
don’t hurry we’ll miss seeing Steuart before his surgery.” Olivia walked into
the hall and turned back, “Bring your hairbrush with you. Don’t worry about
your bed.”

Sam leaned down for Trista. “And leave
those nasty dolls here.”

“I’d like to take them with me.”

“Samantha Leigh, leave them here. We
don’t want to contaminate the hospital.”

“I’d like to take you with me,” Sam
whispered to Trista.

“You don’t want to get into trouble.”

“I’m already in trouble. She blames me
for Steuart’s accident.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam shrugged.

“Samantha Leigh,” Olivia called out.
“Let’s go.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Trista smiled
at Sam. “Tell Steuart I’m thinking about him. We’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

Visitors came, went, sat, stood, paced,
and walked around the busy surgical waiting room. Some were alone, others in groups;
each waiting to hear about a friend or loved one. Sam and her mother sat
together. Olivia talked on the phone while Sam sat quietly thinking about
Steuart. One family, seated just across from Sam, alternated between praying
and arguing. The group discussed religion so loudly that she found herself
unable to think. She shook her head, closed her eyes, and wished they would go
away. Three seats over, a lady with two friends sat eating snacks, reading tabloid
magazines, and talking, “We have a family rule,” one of them said, giggling. “We’re
only allowed to read trash at the hospital or the lake. The rest of the time we
glance at covers in the check-out lane.” Up front, a woman and an older man,
both wearing pink vests, sat at a counter shuffling small stacks of paper, answering
the phone, and providing information to visitors. Sam yawned.