True Colors (14 page)

So Raleigh and I did have some things in common: he never got to know his mother or father, either.

“Have you ever been to his house?” I asked, thinking of the stories all the kids at school had made up about him.

“Not since his folks lived there,” said Mr. Gilpin. “Then, when the road and bridge to that place washed out in the ’27 flood, the town never did build them back, didn’t seem to be a need, with no one living there. Now it’s just too hard a place to get to, especially for a man with one leg. But Raleigh seems to like the solitude out there. I imagine he feels safer.”

Harder for the Wright brothers to get out there is what I imagined Mr. Gilpin meant.

Mr. Gilpin stood up.

“I’ll run off copies of these pageant scripts and tell everyone about the rehearsal,” he said. “If we meet up at the lake at ten o’clock, that should be good, don’t you think?” He was out the door before I could even answer. Mr. Gilpin might not feel he was up to walking to Raleigh’s place, but he still moved pretty fast for a man with just one leg.

I was happy for him when I saw Saturday dawn bright and cloudless, not a hint of rain. A perfect day for the rehearsal.

I didn’t have any trouble getting Nadine to come along (I think she was hoping Mr. Gilpin would give her a part in the pageant), and the trip to town, both of us riding Dolly, went quickly. Nadine seemed like her old self, mostly, until we came to the lake and she saw Raleigh. She wrinkled her nose.

“What’s he doing here?” she asked.

“He’s playing Spencer Chamberlain,” I told her.

“I hope it isn’t a
speaking
part,” Nadine said, which I thought was mean.

“We’re going to start with the Runaway Pond pageant,” Mr. Gilpin announced.

Mr. Gilpin had painted waves onto large pieces of cardboard and attached them to the side of a wagon, so that the two older Trombley boys could pull the wagon and it would look like the waves were chasing Raleigh as he ran.

Mr. Gilpin had also made a cardboard box to look like a mill. That’s where I’d be, as Mrs. Willson, for Raleigh to pull me out and rescue me, but Mr. Gilpin was just going over our lines when the Wright brothers showed up. Dennis had a burlap bag slung over his shoulder, and I noticed he set it down by the Indian village that was to be used for the Rogers’s Raid pageant. We’d be rehearsing that later. I was going to play an Abenaki woman in that one.

Mr. Gilpin went over where we were all supposed to stand during the pageant, and I was trying to pay attention, but I got distracted when I saw Nadine had gone over to the Indian village and was talking to the Wright brothers. Nadine didn’t really know them, and I’d warned her plenty to stay away from them, so I wondered what they could be talking about, but Mr. Gilpin was ready to start, so I walked down to the “mill,” where I was supposed to be. Nadine came with me. She smirked when she saw the cardboard mill.

“I knew this was an
amateur
production,” she said, “but
really
.”

I thought Mr. Gilpin had done a good job constructing the mill, but I didn’t say so.

Mr. Gilpin was pointing out to Raleigh where he was supposed to run when he was interrupted by Wesley and Dennis.

“Run, run!” they screamed. “Don’t let Raleigh bite you! He’s got rabies!” They doubled over with laughter.

I looked at Nadine. She turned her head away, but not before I saw her face redden.

“That’s enough!” Mr. Gilpin yelled. “Dennis, Wesley, not another word out of you.”

I turned to Nadine.

“Why would you have told them that?” I asked.

“Why, was I not supposed to?” Nadine said, all innocent. “I didn’t know it was a secret. You should have told me.”

I glared at her, but I felt sick. She was right. It
was
my fault. She shouldn’t have told the Wright brothers, and they
were
being awful, the way they were picking on Raleigh, but they never would have known if
I
hadn’t told Nadine.

Things went downhill from there. Dennis set off some fireworks, which spooked Dolly, and she took off, tearing through the Indian village that Mr. Gilpin had set up for the Rogers’s Raid pageant, scattering Trombleys every which way. Luckily, she didn’t trample anybody, but just as Mr. Gilpin and Hannah were trying to round the Trombleys
back up, Mr. Hazelton, playing one of Rogers’s Rangers, picked up the burlap bag that Dennis had brought and threw it over his shoulder. The bag was to be used for hauling away the gold and silver that the rangers loot from the Indian village and carry back to Vermont.

A funny look came over Mr. Hazelton’s face, and he set the bag down. Out from the bag marched a skunk. A very angry-looking skunk. It took one look at all of us, turned, and lifted its tail. That sent everyone scattering as well.

Mr. Gilpin looked almost as mad as that skunk, and I was figuring that right about then he was wishing he could dispatch the Wright brothers, too. I felt bad for him. His rehearsal had turned into a disaster, which was just what the Wright brothers had wanted.

chapter 19

After that first rehearsal, we all wondered if Mr. Gilpin would just cancel the whole shebang, but he surprised us. He stood up in church the next day and announced that he was holding another rehearsal that afternoon.

We all looked at each other, wondering what Mr. Gilpin could be
thinking
, and wondering if everyone would be scared off by the Wright brothers, but by two o’clock, over a hundred townspeople had shown up at the lake, some to rehearse, but others just to see what the Wright brothers would do.

“Gives you a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Thompson said, and Mr. Hazelton nodded.

“It’s like driving by a car wreck. You just can’t help but look,” he said.

So imagine everyone’s surprise when Mr. Gilpin showed up
with
the Wright brothers!

“Dennis and Wesley are going to play the smugglers,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Depending on how they do, I’d also like them to play some of the Indians that Rogers’s Rangers attack.”

Before, I’d wanted to play one of Rogers’s Rangers, but now I was glad I wasn’t. One thing about Dennis and Wesley, pageant or no pageant, you
knew
they’d attack back.

“Have you lost your mind?” Hannah asked Mr. Gilpin.

“If you can’t beat them, join them,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Or at least get them to join you. You know that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ ”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hannah said.

“Me too,” said Mr. Gilpin.

We were all on pins and needles wondering what mischief the Wright brothers would get into, but to everyone’s amazement (and except for Dennis almost putting out Pierre Trombley’s eye with an arrow), the rehearsal went off with hardly a hitch.

Maybe Mr. Gilpin had had the right idea after all, but I wasn’t convinced. Dennis and Wesley hadn’t turned over new leaves all of a sudden. I smelled a rat; they were up to something. Maybe I’d be able to find out just what they were up to when I spied on them. It was time I figured out when, and how, I was going to carry out my spying expedition.

Monday morning, Hannah and I were still talking about the rehearsal—and I was thinking about how I could sneak
away to start spying—as we finished up milking. I turned the cows back out while Hannah washed up the milk pails and cream separator, then I followed her into the house for breakfast. Maybe, on my deliveries, I could swing by the Wright place and start snooping around. There was a pair of old army binoculars up in the attic; if I took those, I might be able to spot the animals at the Wrights’ without having to get so close.

Hannah dished up oatmeal and began slicing a loaf of bread.

“I hardly got a drop from Daisy this morning,” I told Hannah.

“I know, she’s drying up,” Hannah said. “And I’m afraid she’s too old to have another calf.”

The spoon stopped halfway to my mouth. I knew what that meant. Cows only produce milk after they’ve had a calf, and if a cow can’t produce milk, she’s good for just one thing.

Meat.

The last time Hannah had butchered a cow, Beulah, I’d been too young to remember it. All the cows we had now, how many hundreds of times had I rested my head against them as I milked, talked to them, sung to them? I
knew
them. Peony was partial to apples, while Tulip liked carrots. Rose had to be the first one in the barn or she got snippety. Daffodil enjoyed Christmas songs like “Jingle Bells” and “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” while Chrysanthemum
preferred hymns. Iris hated thunderstorms and dogs. And Daisy, she liked to be scratched behind her ears.

Poor Daisy. I knew farmers couldn’t afford to keep cows as pets, but I didn’t want her turned into hamburger and pot roasts.

Hannah took off her apron and set it on the counter.

“Those peas and beans are going to get by us if we don’t can them this afternoon,” Hannah said. “I need to slip into town for a new seal for the pressure cooker, but while I’m gone, you can start bringing up the jars.”

I hated canning time. Hannah had hundreds of glass canning jars in the cellar that every year had to be carried up, washed in hot, soapy water, and then carried back down to put on the shelves once she’d filled them. She had so many jars that after she filled all the shelves, she lined both sides of the stairs with them as well.

“That’s an accident waiting to happen,” Mr. Gilpin told her. “Get Raleigh to build you some more shelves.”

“I can build my own shelves,” Hannah told him, but so far, she hadn’t done it.

Hannah went to get her purse from the bedroom.

“Now make sure the water’s nice and hot when you wash those jars,” she called over her shoulder.

“I just remembered something I promised I’d do for Mr. Gilpin,” I hollered. “I’ll wash those jars as soon as I get back.”

“Blue!” Hannah called, but I was already out the door. I’d had an idea.

I jumped on Dolly’s back and headed off in the direction of town, but as soon as I was out of sight of the house, I doubled back to the barn, got a pail of grain, and rode to the pasture where I’d just let the cows out.

My spying expedition on the Wright brothers would have to wait at least another day. I had a cow to save.

Daisy let me loop a rope around her horns, but I had a devil of a time getting her separated from the other cows. Whenever I’d rattle the pail to get her attention, all the cows trotted up, bumping me and the pail to get at the grain. I finally managed it by dumping out some of the grain on the ground, and while the cows jostled for it, I dangled the pail in front of Daisy’s nose and led her out the gate, shutting it quickly behind me. Once Daisy realized there was a fence between her and the other cows, she lifted her head and bawled. The cows crowded along the gate, bawling back. I rattled the pail again, and Daisy followed me, but she kept looking back over her shoulder.

I held on to the rope as I got on Dolly and dug my heels in her sides, figuring Daisy would follow along behind. But Daisy had other ideas. She dug in
her
heels, leaned back against the rope, and pulled me clean off.

I jumped up, dusting myself off.

“Durn you, Daisy,” I yelled. “I’m just trying to save your life, is all.”

I remounted, and this time I rattled the pail. Daisy took
a few steps, then leaned back, fighting the rope. I rattled the pail again, and she stepped forward.

I figured I’d be a year older by the time we made it across the pasture: one step, rattle, two steps, rattle. I wondered if that was where the word
cowpoke
came from, because Daisy was even pokier than Dolly.

Being a trapeze artist was suddenly looking a lot better than being a cowboy.

It took forever for us to make our way through the woods and up to the highlands above the lake, where Hannah’s great-grandparents had first settled when they came from Scotland. The buildings were gone, but you could still find the old cellar hole and some old fence where Hannah grazed the sheep sometimes to keep the weeds and brush from taking over.

It was my favorite place.