Voices at Whisper Bend (13 page)

“Shh,” Paul warned. “Watch the bank now. I'm going in closer.”

Closer meant shallower water. That made Charlotte feel a little better, but in a cove the currents sometimes acted funny. And with fog coming down, a boat could get lost just a few feet from shore.

“Do you see anything, Charlie?” Robbie whispered. “I don't.”

“I can barely see the bank. Paul, we really should go home. We won't catch anybody if we can't see.”

“I'll tie up then,” he said. “We'll use our ears.”

As he finished speaking, a low wail blasted the air around them. A tug in midriver. The sound came three times. Charlotte braced herself for the wake. It hit them broadside, knocking the rowboat sideways toward the bank and sloshing water in over their feet.

When the river calmed, Paul rowed toward an overhanging tree. “We'll tie up here. If we can't see the crook, he can't see us. So we'll be fine.”

“I'm not sitting in this boat,” Charlotte said. “I want solid ground under my feet.”

“Come on, Charlie. Don't turn chicken again. The banks are all mud anyway.”

“I'll find a rock to sit on.” She climbed out, carrying the bat and her bag of supplies.

“Shh,” Paul warned again. “Sounds can carry a long way on the water.”

Like last night, Charlotte thought. Were that man and child going to come back? Were they mixed up in the stealing? She squinted, trying to spot a protected place to sit. There didn't seem to be any flat rocks nearby, but she found a beached log that was better than mud. She sat, wishing for a thick umbrella of pine branches overhead. But no big trees grew this close to the river, so the rain trickled down her neck.

Minutes crept by, then a half hour. Another train blew. The chuffing of wheels grew loud, then soft, finally disappearing into the fog. “How long?” she whispered. “It's really bad out here.”

“Another hour?” Paul said.

“Half? Please?”

“Okay, half.”

“Aw, Charlie—”

“Shh. I hear something,” Paul whispered.

Charlotte held her breath. Footsteps? The splash of water against a boat? She listened hard over the river noise and the rain.

“It's too hard. I can't bear it, Johnny.” A woman's voice.

“I know. I know. But I got no choice.” A man.

Robbie slipped out of the boat and crawled next to her on the log. She threw her arm around him. These people didn't sound like thieves, but they sure sounded spooky. They had to be mighty desperate to be out on such a night. And where were they? On the river? On the bank? Charlotte listened for boat sounds but didn't hear any. Just sad voices.

“Do you have to? If you love me …”

“I have to. Because I love you. What kind of man would I be if I didn't?”

Charlotte pulled Robbie closer. She heard no more talking, but there was a sound, soft crying, like a kitten would make. They weren't supposed to be hearing this. Nobody was. It felt all wrong.

“Paul. I want to go home. Now.” She opened her bag and pulled out the flashlight. Turning sideways to keep any stray light from reaching the river, she flicked on the flashlight, checked her watch quickly, then switched off the light. “We've been out here for more than an hour. The next dry night I'll come back, I promise.”

“Shh.” His warning came as a soft hiss, barely reaching her ears.

What had he heard or imagined this time? Charlotte held her breath and listened, so hard she could hear her own heart beating and Robbie's soft breathing next to her. Then she heard it too, upstream. The scrape of wood against rock. A splash and the gentle thwack of a rope being tossed to shore.

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12

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Charlotte froze. She felt Robbie's hand inch over onto her arm, and he dug his nails in, like a kitten will when it's scared. His fingers crept down until they reached her right hand. He tugged on the flashlight she still held. His motion thawed her muscles.

She passed him the flashlight with her right thumb covering the switch, protecting it. With her left palm she covered the end with the lightbulb, then shook her head as if to say,
Don't turn it on yet
. She prayed he understood.

He nodded and she released it into his hands. Bending slowly, she reached for the baseball bat and wrapped both her hands around it.

Upstream, a thump and footsteps.

She peered into the darkness, trying to see Paul's face, but he was too far away, a pale blur in the rainy night.

The footsteps came closer. Was it just one person?

Robbie poked her side with his elbow.

She shook her head. Not yet, not until the thief was close enough to catch. She lifted the bat from the ground and set it on her right shoulder. She glanced toward Paul again and saw motion. She wasn't sure what he was up to.

A twig snapped, so close she could almost feel the bark splinter. She tightened her grip on the bat and prepared to stand. She nudged Robbie.

He flicked on the light.

“Stop right there!” she shouted.

Paul leapt from the rowboat with an oar, ready to swing it.

The light wobbled, then Robbie caught a face in its beam. A boy, or a young man. Dark clothes. A cap. His mouth open, his eyes wide. Then a deep voice. “Oh, geez. No!”

“Don't you move,” Robbie warned.

Paul slipped behind the guy. “Not unless you want a taste of this,” he shouted, slapping his oar against the water.

Charlotte stood and stepped closer. He was a boy, but older. Jim's age maybe, his size. She could see shadows of a beard on his jaw. Dark hair and dark eyes.

“Joey? Joey, what's happening?” A voice from upstream, from the darkness. A kid's voice.

“Hush. Stay in the boat.” He turned to Charlotte and let out a sigh. “It's me you want, not them. They didn't do anything.”

“Did you steal our metal?” Robbie demanded.

“Joey, I'm coming to help,” the kid called again.

“No! Stay back!”

Noises from upstream, splashes and voices. Then running feet. Two kids burst from the bushes and grabbed Paul's legs from behind.

The thief turned and tugged on them, freeing Paul. “I said not to,” he began.

Robbie shined his flashlight on the kids. “I told you, Charlie. I told you it was Tommy Stankowski.”

The boy in the light blinked, scowled, and stuck out his jaw. The other kid, a little girl, started to cry.

“Give me that light,” Charlotte said. She set down her bat in Paul's boat and took the flashlight from Robbie. She fumbled, then flicked off the switch. “What do we do now?” she asked Paul.

“Take them to the cops,” Robbie said.

“Please. I can explain. Just hear me out,” the guy said. He threw an arm around each of the kids.

Paul stepped closer and Charlotte watched him study the three thieves. “I think we should hear what he has to say. We can always take him to the cops after. Go on.”

“It could take a while,” Joey said. “But the little fella is right. I'm Joseph Stankowski. This here's my brother Tommy and my sister Tessa. They didn't do none of this.” He pointed to the metal.

“But, Charlie—” Robbie began.

A voice from the bank cut him off. “N-nobody move!”

A powerful glare hit Charlotte in the eyes, blinding her. She raised her hand as a shield. “Who is it?” Was there another thief?

Nobody moved. Charlotte heard scrambling sounds, branches breaking, boots hitting rocks with loud thuds. And then she found herself looking right into a familiar face. “Mr. Willis? What are you doing here?”

“M-m-missy. Shame.” He shook his head at her, angry.

She touched her chest. “Me? You think I'm the thief? Not me. We found the metal. We've been watching for two nights from the river.”

He nodded, as though maybe he believed her.

“How about you, Mr. Willis?” Paul asked. “How come you're here?”

“G-garden,” the man said.

“Garden? You can't grow nothing on the riverbank,” Robbie said. “It's all muck.”

Mr. Willis shook his head. “G-garden,” he repeated.

Charlotte frowned, trying to understand. “Were you
guarding
? Keeping watch on the metal? Did you see it and decide to wait for the thief too? That's what we were doing.”

Mr. Willis nodded. “Guarding. W-waiting for the thief. Th-three nights.”

“Well, you caught me,” Joseph Stankowski said.

His voice sounded so tired, so sad, it made Charlotte want to cry. What was it Paul had said a while back? That their thief was desperate. And not
mean
desperate, but poor. Flat-out broke.

Charlotte's cheeks were wet, even if she hadn't let go and cried. They were still standing out in the rain, and she was shivering. “Come on. Let's go to our house. We'll untangle this mess where it's dry.”

Robbie stood with his feet planted. He crossed his arms and glared. “I don't want them coming to our house.”

“Hush, Robbie,” Charlotte said. She gathered her belongings and stepped closer to the rowboat. “We don't know the whole story yet.”

“We know they took the metal. That means they're crooks. We don't need crooks at our house.”

“Robert Michael Campbell, you hush. “You're talking about a little girl. A boy you go to school with—” Charlotte's words got stuck in her throat. She saw Paul Rossi staring at her through the rain and she knew she had to say more.

She lifted her head and met Paul's eyes. “I … I did that too, Robbie. I accused somebody without knowing enough. I did it and I was wrong and I'm sorry. I know better now.”

Paul ducked his head, then gave her a small smile.

“I heard what he said,” Tommy Stankowski interrupted. “And I won't set foot in his darn house.”

“You will if I tell you to,” Joseph said. He hadn't raised his voice, but Charlotte heard steel in the quiet words.

“Would you come with us, Mr. Willis? We could use your help,” Paul said.

“I-I c-can row.” He stepped toward Joseph.

“You'll row my boat for me?” Joseph glanced down at his brother and sister. “All right, let's get us out of the rain.”

Paul helped Charlotte and Robbie into his boat.

“You watch them good, Mr. Willis,” Robbie shouted as he climbed aboard.

“Yep,” Mr. Willis called. He followed the Stankowski kids along the bank to where they'd tied up their boat.

Paul gave his rowboat a shove and clambered in, then slid the loose oar into its oarlock.

“You're the one who needs watching,” Charlotte told her brother. “No more nasty talk. At least not until we've heard what Joseph has to say.”

Paul rowed across the current to the middle of the river and steered the boat so it was heading downstream. He held the oars out, steadying the boat against the current. “Thought we better row both boats down together. Is that all right?”

“Sure,” Charlotte said. She could feel the current pushing against the bottom of the boat. “So they find the house.”

“So they don't escape,” Robbie said.

Charlotte knew that if she shined her flashlight on Robbie's face he'd be glaring. Well, tough. She watched upstream, and the Stankowskis' boat appeared. Mr. Willis was rowing. Joseph sat on a bench with the little girl. She was so small, six or seven at the most. Tommy perched in the bow, looking as stiff and stubborn as Robbie.

The river kept shoving them, the current strong and insistent. Paul pulled on the oars to steer and let the Mon carry them downstream toward home.

“Turn on the flashlight, Charlie,” Robbie said.

“Good idea. Then they can see to follow us.” She fumbled for the light.

“Give it to me,” Robbie demanded, reaching across her lap. “I'm going to shine it on them, so they don't try to pull nothin.'”

“You are the most mule-headed boy on the Monongahela.” Charlotte tightened her grip on the flashlight.

Robbie grabbed an end of it and tugged hard.

“Hey, you two, quit rocking the boat,” Paul warned.

Robbie didn't listen. He gave another hard yank and the boat lurched. Robbie tumbled over the side and into the fast-moving river.

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