Time for Andrew (11 page)

"I'm deeply disturbed by your behavior," Papa began. "At lunchtime, I ran into Mr. Trot as I was leaving my office. He told me how you conducted yourselves in his store."

When Papa paused to light his pipe, Theo inched a little closer to me, making it clear that I was forgiven. We were buddies again—the two of us against Papa.

"Edward started it," Theo muttered. "He took my whole allowance, he—"

"Be silent until you are spoken to," Papa thundered. "When I want your explanation, Theodore, I'll ask for it."

Theo hung his head.

Papa then repeated Mr. Trot's version of the events: Theo had knocked down a display of canned goods, we'd been sent outside, we'd brawled in the street like common hooligans.

"As if that weren't enough, your mother telephoned to tell me you disrupted her club meeting. You not only failed to control Buster but you laughed at his antics and actually encouraged his destructive behavior."

Papa produced from behind his back the tattered remains of Mrs. Armiger's straw hat. If I hadn't been so scared of Papa's temper, I would have laughed at the sight of it. Glowering at us both, he said, "Your allowance will cease until this has been paid for. The way I see it, you won't have a cent to spend till Christmas."

"Yes, sir," Theo and I whispered.

Turning to me, Papa said, "How often must I tell you I will not have you fighting with your cousin. No matter what Edward does to provoke you, you must walk away from him like a gentleman."

"But Papa—"

"I will tolerate no excuses," Laying his pipe on the railing, Papa unbuckled his belt. "Bend over, Andrew."

"Why?" I stared at him in disbelief. Surely Papa wasn't going to hit me.

"What do you mean, 'why?' I'm going to give you the whipping you deserve!"

Fear loosened my tongue, made me careless. "You're not my father, you have no right to touch me!"

"Don't try my patience, Andrew," Papa bellowed. "That sort of nonsense might fool Mama, but I'm not so easily deceived, my boy."

Seizing my arm, he whirled me around and brought the
belt down with a sharp whack on my rear end. The leather bit right through my trousers and stung my skin. I danced about, crying and trying to escape, but the more I struggled, the angrier Papa became. By the time he was done with me, I was sure I'd never sit down again.

Papa turned to Theo. "Your turn."

Giving me a scornful look, Theo clenched his teeth and took his whipping without a whimper. When Papa let him go, he hissed, "I don't know what in tarnation is wrong with you, Andrew. You never used to cry when Papa spanked you."

That night, I startled Andrew by striding right up to him in the attic and shoving my face close to his. For once, I was too angry to be scared of him. "You didn't tell me Papa beat you!"

Andrew raised his eyebrows. "Do you mean to say you finally earned a whipping?"

"It's not funny—he hit me with his belt!"

"Oh, horsefeathers. If Papa thought you deserved it, you probably did." Andrew studied my face. "I hope you didn't cry."

"Of course I did. It hurt!"

Andrew cradled his head in his hands. "How will I ever face Theo," he muttered. "I can't imagine what he thinks of me."

Stung by his lack of sympathy, I glared at Andrew. "My dad never hits me. Never! When I do something wrong, we talk about it. Fathers who beat their kids go to jail for child abuse."

"Truly?" Andrew smiled. "That's one more reason to keep winning—my rear end could do with a nice, long rest."

I watched him aim his aggie at the lag line. As usual, he went first. One after another, he shot seven miggles out of the ring. Click, click, clickety click, they rolled across the floor.

Andrew stood up to leave. "My game again."

"Wait." I grabbed his sleeve to stop him. "Don't go. I have to ask you something." Stumbling over words, I described my encounter with Edward. "I have to meet him at the railroad trestle next week. I'm supposed to do something when I get there, but he didn't say what...." My voice trailed away. The expression on Andrew's face told me he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Drat," he muttered. "That low-down skunk. I was hoping he'd forgotten."

Andrew hesitated. Without looking at me, he picked up a piece of chalk and started drawing a little train on the floor. Concentrating on his sketch, he said, "Before I got sick, Edward dared me to jump off the trestle."

My heart beat faster. "Is that what I'm supposed to do? Jump off?"

"Now, now, don't get all het up, Drew. It's not as bad as you think." Carefully, Andrew added a curlicue of smoke to his drawing. "You walk out on the trestle and jump in the river. Then you swim to shore. It's as simple as one two three." He tapped the chalk three times for emphasis.

My mouth was so dry I could hardly speak. Lying down between the rails or dynamiting the train might be better than this. "How high is the trestle?"

Instead of answering my question, Andrew said, "It's a test of manhood. Lots of boys have done it."

I wasn't interested in testing my manhood or hearing about other boys. I just wanted to know what was going to
happen to me. Me—a boy who was scared to jump off a diving board into eight feet of crystal-clear chlorinated water.

"Is it five feet high?" I asked. "Ten feet? Twenty feet?"

Andrew shrugged. "More like fifteen, I guess, but the water's deep. As long as you don't hit a rock, you'll be fine." He looked at me and grinned. "Why, I could do it blindfolded, I could do it with one hand tied behind my back, I could—"

I flung myself at him. "Showoff! Braggart! No wonder Edward hates you."

Andrew dodged and danced away, laughing at my clumsy attempts to catch him. At the top of the attic steps, he paused for a second. "Just think, Drew—if you win a game between now and next week, I'll have to jump instead of you."

I lunged toward him, but he ran down the steps. Before he reached the bottom, he called, "Of course, I don't believe you'll beat me. Not tomorrow night nor the night after nor any other night. You'll never win, Drew, never."

"You just wait and see," I cried, but I was talking to empty air. Andrew had vanished, and I was alone.

Hannah leaned toward me and touched my hand. "What's the matter? I've never seen such a long face."

To avoid meeting her eyes, I gathered the miggles we'd shot out of the ring. Half the week had passed, and I hadn't come close to beating Andrew. If I didn't win soon, I'd have to meet Edward on the trestle.

"I just can't beat him," I muttered.

"What has that dirty rat done now?"

Shocked, I stared at Hannah. Had she guessed? Did she know about Andrew and me? "He," I stammered, "he..."

"Drat Edward for plaguing you so." Hannah clenched her fists and scowled fiercely. "If I were a boy, I'd give him a walloping he wouldn't soon forget."

"That's more than Andrew will ever do." Theo stood on the edge of the grove. Nudging a marble with his bare toe, he watched it roll toward the ring. "So this is where you go every morning. I've been wondering and wondering."

"Don't tell," Hannah said. "Mama would take her hairbrush to my bottom if she knew I was playing marbles like a tomboy."

Theo squatted beside her. "I bet you wouldn't cry no
matter how hard Mama spanked you. Even though you're a girl, you're tougher than
some
people in this family."

"Hush, Theo," Hannah said. "You know the fever left Andrew weak. For goodness sake, you're almost as bad as Edward."

"All Andrew has to do is stand up for himself. Edward would leave him alone fast enough then." Theo turned to me. "Don't you remember what happened the time you made his nose bleed?"

Instead of answering, I practiced shooting at the miggles left in the ring. Click. Pleased, I watched a cat's-eye hop across the dirt and roll into the weeds. I was getting better and better—but I still wasn't good enough.

Hannah put her hand on mine. "Forget the marbles for now, Andrew. Theo's absolutely right. I told you before—you mustn't let Edward scare you. He's a bully and a coward. What would Frank Merriwell do if he were you?"

Frank Merriwell—I was thoroughly sick of hearing that name. "I don't care what some dumb guy in a story would do. I'm not going to fight Edward."

"Fight me then." Hannah raised her fists and danced around on her bare feet, bouncing, ducking, and swinging at the air around my head. "Pretend I'm Edward!"

I ducked a punch, and she swung again. "Put up your dukes," she ordered, "defend yourself, sir."

This time Hannah clipped my chin hard enough to knock me down. Her shirtwaist was completely untucked, her face was smudged, her hair was tumbling down her back and hanging in her eyes.

"On your feet, sir," she shouted. "Let's see your fighting spirit!"

Hannah was making so much noise she didn't hear John
Larkin push aside the branches and enter the grove. When he saw her take another swing at me, he started laughing.

Hannah whirled around, her face scarlet, and stared at John. "What do you mean by sneaking up on us like a common Peeping Tom?"

"With the noise you've been making, you wouldn't have noticed a herd of rampaging elephants." John was still laughing, but Hannah was furious.

Putting her fists on her hips, she scowled at him. "Well, now you know the truth about me. I'm no lady and I never claimed to be one. I suppose you'll start taking Amelia Carter for rides in your precious tin lizzie and treating her to sodas at your father's drugstore. I'm sure
she'd
never brawl with her brothers."

Theo and I looked at each other. We were both hoping Hannah would make John leave. Before he came along and ruined everything, we'd been having fun.

To my disappointment, John didn't seem to realize he was unwanted. Leaning against a tree, he watched Hannah run her hands through her hair. "I don't know what you're so fired up about," he said. "Why should I want to take Amelia anywhere? I've never met a more boring girl. As for her brothers—a little brawling wouldn't hurt them. Or Amelia either."

Hannah turned away, her face flushed, and John winked at me. "Your sister's first rate," he said, "but I wager I know a sight more about boxing than she does. Why not let me show you a thing or two?"

Happy again, Hannah smiled at John. "What a grand idea! But go slow, Andrew's still weak."

When John took off his jacket, I edged closer to Hannah. "I like
your
lessons," I said to her, scowling at John. He
was rolling up his sleeves, probably to show off his muscles. Next to him, I was nothing but a skinny little baby. He'd knock me flat and everyone would laugh at me.

"Don't be silly, Andrew." Hannah gave me a little push toward John who had now assumed a boxing stance.

"Raise your fists like this," he said, "protect yourself."

I closed my eyes and swung at John, but he blocked my fist with his palm. "No, no, no," he said. "Slow down, take it easy, think about what you're doing."

For an hour or more, John did his best to show me the basics of self-defense. He was a lot more patient than I thought he'd be, but I was glad when he wiped the sweat from his face and said we'd had enough for one day.

"You'll never be the heavyweight champion of the world," he said, "but you should be able to duck anything Edward throws at you."

Theo wanted his turn, but John said it was too hot for more lessons. He looked up into the tree where Hannah sat swinging her feet, and smiled. "Maybe your sister will come down from her perch and offer us a nice cold glass of lemonade."

Hannah gave her hand to John and allowed him to help her. "Not that I need your assistance," she said. "I'm merely practicing my manners."

We watched John and Hannah walk away, still holding hands. "He's as bad as diphtheria," Theo muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Diphtheria made you into a perfect gentleman," Theo said, "and John makes Hannah into a perfect lady. I'm sure I don't know which is worse—being sick or falling in love."

Without waiting to hear my opinion, Theo ran through
the burial ground, leapfrogging tombstones, daring me to catch him.

A couple of days later, John came calling again, just after supper this time. We'd set up the wickets to play croquet, and Hannah invited him to join us. He chose the red-striped mallet and ball, my favorites, and I was left with yellow, a boring color.

Brandishing a green mallet, Hannah grinned at John. "We'll take sides. You and me against Andrew and Theo."

Hannah went first. Theo and I watched her knock her ball through the first two wickets and aim for the third. She missed and stepped back to let Theo take his turn.

I leaned on my mallet and waited. It had taken me a while to understand the game, but once I learned the rules, I'd become a pretty good strategist. As soon as I had the opportunity, I planned to knock John's ball clear off the court, maybe all the way into the poison ivy at the bottom of the hill.

In a few minutes, I saw my chance. My ball rolled through a wicket and hit his. To keep mine steady, I put my foot on it and whacked my ball hard enough to drive John's into the poison ivy.

"It's dead," I crowed. "I got you!"

Hannah gave me one of her vexed looks. Turning to John, she said, "I swear he's getting more like his old self every day."

At the same moment, Buster went tearing into the poison ivy and emerged with the ball in his mouth. Wagging his tail proudly, he ran off with it. He'd lost Mrs. Armiger's hat, but he wasn't going to give up the ball. Ignoring our commands to drop it, he dashed under the rose trellis and disappeared behind the hedge.

"Drat," Hannah said. "That stupid dog must have buried a dozen croquet balls by now."

I glanced at John, hoping he'd be a bad sport. Maybe he'd say I cheated. Maybe he'd say it wasn't fair. Maybe he'd disgrace himself by refusing to play. Instead, he slapped my back and said, "Well, it looks like you'll win this game, Andrew."

Hannah glowed with admiration. Frank Merriwell himself couldn't have been a finer gentleman.

I turned away and kicked at a clump of grass. Suddenly, the air quivered and Andrew took shape beside me. In the dusky evening light, he stepped toward his sister and brother. "Hannah," he called. "Theo, it's me!"