True Colors (20 page)

“Okay,” I said, and Hannah’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

To get to Mrs. Gray’s place, I had to ride two miles out on the other side of town, take a right-hand turn, and go another two miles.

“Oh, that Hannah,” Mrs. Gray said, taking the soup. “She’s always so thoughtful.”

Yeah, I thought, to everybody
else
. Nobody cared if
I
missed the parade.

“Mrs. Gray?” I said. “Are you still going to visit your daughter in Montpelier?”

“No,” said Mrs. Gray. “My lumbago’s been acting up, so my daughter’s going to come visit
me
instead.”

My heart sank, and I fumed as I headed back down the
road. Great. I’d wasted the morning on a wild-goose chase. Not only did I
not
have a ride to Barre, but I was going to miss the Old Home Day festivities.

Two miles down, a left-hand turn, and two miles straight back to town, just like one of those right-angle triangles Miss Paisley had shown us in arithmetic. I’d never make it back in time for the parade.

Unless I took a shortcut.

What was that word Miss Paisley had used for the side of the triangle opposite the right angle? It sounded something like
hippopotamus
.

Hypotenuse
. Yes, that was it.

I couldn’t remember how to figure out the length of the hypotenuse, but it just made sense that it’d be shorter to cut across instead of going back the way I’d come. I rode Dolly past Mrs. Gray’s house, across the fields behind the house, and pointed her in the direction I thought town was.

I hadn’t figured on there being no road, just dense woods and swamp. Poor Dolly was either knee-deep in mud or scrabbling through thick brush, and goodness knows how many swarms of mosquitoes and horseflies we rode through, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She didn’t know how to figure out the hypotenuse any more than I did, it looked like.

Just when I thought we were lost for all time, I heard the river, and we came out into a little clearing next to it. In
the distance, I could see the church steeple and hear calliope music from the fairgrounds. I wasn’t sure whether that hypotenuse had been shorter after all, but I thought Miss Paisley would be pleased to learn I’d used arithmetic over the summer.

I was wondering how we were going to get across the river when we came to a rickety little bridge. It had some boards missing, and to tell you the truth, it didn’t look like it’d hold me up, much less a horse. Dolly took one look and said no way was she setting a hoof on that, that she’d wade across the river instead, thank you very much. (Wasn’t one of those phobias that Nadine had mentioned a fear of crossing bridges? Well, Dolly had it.) But that bridge got me to thinking. There was a bridge that led to Raleigh’s. Was this it? I knew I might be late to the parade, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to finally see Raleigh’s house. And because I’d be riding Dolly through the swamp, I didn’t have to worry about the bloodsuckers.

It was such tough going that I figured Raleigh must have some easier route getting to and from town. Just when I thought I was lost for good again, we came to a house.

It was small and set back in the trees, and from the outside, it looked like it was a bunch of old boards thrown together, a lot like that rickety bridge, but when I looked in the window, everything was neat as a pin. I felt a little disappointed. I’d half hoped Raleigh really did live in a caboose or a tree house.

I walked Dolly down along the river, looking for the best place to cross. I rounded a bend and stopped.

I stared for a long time, not believing what I was seeing.

Under the trees, and spread out along the riverbank, were dozens of pens and cages, each holding a different animal. In one, a heron with a bandaged wing stared at me with beady eyes, and three half-grown heron babies squawked and hopped around her, flapping their wings.

The heron that the Wright brothers had hurt. Raleigh hadn’t “dispatched” her, and he’d retrieved her babies from the nest, too.

Some of the bigger pens held pigs and sheep. In one of the smaller cages, a three-legged rabbit munched on some lettuce, and in another cage was a chicken that looked exactly like the hen that Mrs. Wells had given Raleigh. He hadn’t turned her into soup after all.

Looking in each pen and cage, I realized that Raleigh hadn’t eaten
any
of the animals people had given him. He’d taken care of them and turned them into pets!

I thought of how the Wright brothers had called Raleigh yellow. Well, maybe Raleigh
was
yellow, but at least he had a good heart, which was more than you could say for the Wright brothers.

Around the next bend in the river, I found more animals, but not animals that people had given Raleigh.

Daisy lifted her head and mooed when she saw me.

I ran toward her, laughing. Good old Daisy. The Wright
brothers hadn’t turned her into hamburger after all, but how had she gotten away from them? How had she gotten here?

I stopped dead in my tracks.

There was another cow beyond Daisy, a red and white cow with the longest horns I’d ever seen. It took a few seconds before I figured out it was the Texas longhorn Mr. Wright had lost in the swamp and had never been seen again.

Except I was seeing her.

That wasn’t all. My eyes moved from animal to animal, like one of those pictures where you have to connect the dots before you can tell what it is.

I guessed that the sheep grazing next to the cows was Mr. Butler’s missing sheep, and the calf with a splinted leg was Mr. Lapointe’s.

Just past the Texas longhorn was another animal I’d only seen in movies, like
Lawrence of Arabia
. It’s not every day you find a camel in a Vermont field, and it took a second for my brain to recognize it, but there it was, a real-life camel, lying down, chewing its cud.

I knew then that if I looked in one of those cages nearer Raleigh’s, I’d probably find the monkey, too.

The Wright brothers hadn’t stolen the animals.

Raleigh had.

I don’t know how much time passed with me just staring at those animals. You would have thought I’d be happy
to have solved the mystery, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t write my article now. If I did, showing that it was Raleigh who’d taken the animals, that just might be all Mr. Wright needed to have Raleigh put away for good.

I left the animals and pushed Dolly as fast as she would go back to town. This was too big for me to figure out: I had to tell Mr. Gilpin. He’d know what to do.

I got there just as the three-legged race finished up. Nadine shot me a look, and I knew I’d hear words later, seeing as how I’d made her miss it. We always seemed to be fighting, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. I had to find Mr. Gilpin.

He was busy lining up the veterans for the parade: first, Mr. Emerson, who’d fought in the Spanish-American War; then Mr. Barclay and Mr. Thompson, in their World War I uniforms; and then two rows of World War II veterans. Raleigh stood right in the middle, waving a flag. He had no idea how much trouble he was in.

Mr. Wright was standing off with a group of other men. They had beer bottles in their hands and were talking and laughing, loud.

Looking at him, I could see why Dennis and Wesley had turned out so bad. Made me almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

Mr. Wright swaggered over and shoved his nose right into Mr. Gilpin’s face. I’d seen Dennis do the same thing with Raleigh, so I could see where he’d gotten it from.

“It ain’t right, him marching with them,” Mr. Wright growled, pointing his bottle at Raleigh. “He ain’t a veteran.”

I saw the muscles in Mr. Gilpin’s jaw moving, but he kept his voice even.

“The
veterans
are fine with having Raleigh march with them,” Mr. Gilpin said. “And since you’re
not
a veteran, I don’t see as you have any say in the matter.”

Mr. Wright’s eyes got even beadier, and I shivered.

“People like him ought to be locked up,” Mr. Wright said. “He’s a menace to the law-abiding citizens in town.”

I could just imagine what Hannah would say to that.

Menace, my foot. And that man wouldn’t know law-abiding if it bit him.

Mr. Gilpin must have been thinking the same thing.

“Menace?” Mr. Gilpin said. “Raleigh wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Mr. Gilpin didn’t know how right he was. Raleigh probably rescued flies, along with everything else.

“I got some things missing around my place,” Mr. Wright said, “and I think he took ’em, things like fence wire, some sap buckets, couple sticks of dynamite. I bet he’s been stealing things for years, but no one suspects him because he’s everybody’s favorite retard.”

Mr. Gilpin looked too shocked to say anything right away. No one else said anything, either. Most of what Mr. Wright had said was lies—Raleigh certainly wasn’t a menace to anyone, and I didn’t think he had taken the buckets
or dynamite—but Mr. Wright was right about one thing: Raleigh had been stealing for years. Animals.

I cleared my throat, and both men looked down at me.

“What is it, Blue?” Mr. Gilpin snapped.

I could feel Mr. Wright staring at me with his little pig eyes.

“Nothing,” I murmured.

Mr. Gilpin turned his attention back to Mr. Wright.

“If I ever hear you talking about Raleigh again, I’m going to sue you for slander,
and
have you arrested for robbery,” Mr. Gilpin said. “We both know who’s been stealing things for years in this town, and it isn’t Raleigh.”

Mr. Wright’s face turned bright red. He clenched his fists, and I thought for sure he was going to clobber Mr. Gilpin. But Hannah’d always said if you stand up to a bully, he’ll back down, and I guess she was right because after a minute he slunk back to his buddies.

Mr. Gilpin let out a breath. I realized I’d been holding mine, too.

“What a misery he is,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Bet his wife died just to get away from him. No, now, I shouldn’t have said that; it’s just he has a way of getting my dander up. What is it you wanted to tell me, Blue?”

“Nothing,” I said again. It wasn’t the right time to tell him, with the parade ready to start any minute. I’d tell him later.

“You know, I shouldn’t be marching in this parade, either. I’m not a veteran, but I do it to honor Herbert, to make sure he’s not forgotten. He was a real hero.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know who he was talking about.

Mr. Gilpin must have seen that in my face.

“Herbert,” he repeated. “Herbert Spooner. Hannah’s husband.”

I didn’t know anything about Hannah’s husband. There was a picture of him on Hannah’s dresser, but Hannah never talked about him. I knew Hannah well enough to know she kept her feelings to herself, but still, you’d have thought she would have said
something
about him.

“A good man, Herbert,” Mr. Gilpin went on, “though he wasn’t ever the same after he came back. War changes a man, you know.”

I didn’t remember the start of World War II, of course (I’d just been born), but I did have a few memories of the
end
of the war: horns honking, people hugging and kissing in the street (I’d never seen that before), Hannah crying (I’d never seen that, either), but I didn’t remember Herbert coming home.

How could I not remember something like that, I wondered.

“We all thought World War I was going to be the war to end all wars,” Mr. Gilpin said. “Then we had World War II, and now here we are, in another war.”

Oh. Herbert had been in the
First
World War.

I wondered how the war would change Keith.

Mr. Gilpin kept talking about Herbert, but all I could think about was Raleigh. I’d changed my mind about telling Mr. Gilpin about the animals at Raleigh’s. Raleigh
had
taken those animals; he’d broken the law. I wasn’t sure that even Mr. Gilpin would be able to keep Raleigh from going to
jail
.

I tried to picture Raleigh in jail. I saw him huddled in a corner, shriveled and dying, like Hannah’s begonia that I’d forgotten to water while she was in the hospital. And it would be my fault because I’d squealed on him.

I couldn’t take the chance of that happening. I had to keep his secret. To protect him.

“… pretty soon?” Mr. Gilpin said.

“What?” I asked.

“I must say, you seem distracted today,” Mr. Gilpin said. “I said, now that Hannah’s doing better, does that mean you’ll be coming back to the paper pretty soon?”

I shook my head. Who could think of writing a column with all
this
going on? If only I could put it
in
the paper, I’d have more people talking about
my
column than Nadine even
dreamed
about!

“Nadine’s better at writing than I am,” I mumbled.

Mr. Gilpin pursed his lips and stared at me.

“Do you know why I’ve been so hard on you?” he asked. “Because I think you
can
be a good writer.”

“But Nadine’s better at—” I began, but Mr. Gilpin interrupted me.

“No, she isn’t,” he said. “She’s got a good vocabulary, but she doesn’t know how to bring life to the words. Sometimes you can get so focused on the words that you forget the story.”

Well, I had a story, all right, except I couldn’t write it!

I was worrying so much about Raleigh that I couldn’t even enjoy the parade, and the cotton candy tasted like sawdust in my mouth. For once, it wasn’t the Wright brothers who’d ruined the day—it was Raleigh. What would happen to him when people found out about all the animals he’d stolen?

Nadine and I rode home together, she on her bike and me on Dolly. Nadine talked the whole time, about parades (“It was a pretty good parade, I guess, for a small town, but you should see the parades I’ve seen in New York and Washington, D.C.—they took
hours
, they had ever so many giant balloons and floats. I expect they’ll be asking me to be the queen on one of those floats …”) and her bicycle (“It’s so old-fashioned. I’m going to have Daddy buy me a new bike, and then you can have this one”), and then she got onto the subject of the Wright brothers.