Way Down Deep (3 page)

Next they went to Miss Arbutus's dressing table, where they took great pains in manicuring their nails. During this ritual Miss Arbutus might gently remind Ruby, “When you're in the habit of preparing food for others, it is essential to have clean fingernails.”

Finally Miss Arbutus would take her long brown hair out of its tight bun so that Ruby could brush it. This was
the favorite hour of the day for both of them, for at this time, dressed in their long white nightgowns, they shared their day-to-day joys and concerns. Although Miss Arbutus was stingy with words to most people, she was more than generous with Ruby. The subject might be school, or the boarders, or the townspeople, or any old thing that crossed their minds.

“It's rumored that the first Archibald Ward, who was the founder of this town, brought a treasure to Way Down those many years ago,” Miss Arbutus said one night.

“Was he a rich man?”

“No, he was not. But he was a very adventurous man, and a traveler. They say he found a pirate's treasure during one of his explorations on the coast of Virginia.”

Ruby's eyes grew large. “A pirate's treasure?”

“Yes, gold doubloons and pieces of eight!” Miss Arbutus spoke in a whispery mysterious voice. “And he never used the money because he was afraid the pirates would find him and kill him. So he buried it way down deep somewhere in Way Down Deep, far from the coast and the prying eyes of the world.”

“Do you think it's true, Miss Arbutus? Is there really a treasure buried in Way Down?”

“It's a legend, Ruby. All the people who have ever lived here know the story, and have repeated it to their children, so that the truth has probably been distorted. But you know what they say about legends. They are rooted in fact somewhere down the line.”

Occasionally, during their evening chats, Miss Arbutus talked about what she had dreamed the previous night. Her dreams were lucid and lively.

“Last night I went to England. I saw Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, where the young princesses reside. I saw Stonehenge and the wild moors where the night wind goes moaning through the gorse, just like Mr. Thomas Hardy said in his books. I saw the White Cliffs of Dover, which our servicemen loved so much during the war. There was a song about it. I saw it all, and talked to the people. I love the way they talk.”

“I should like to go to England,” Ruby said.

“Well, if we ever find old Archibald Ward's treasure, we will go to England, and all over Europe.”

They smiled at each other in the looking glass.

“But we will come home, won't we?” Ruby said. “We'll always come back to Way Down?”

“Of course we will. I got homesick even in my dream. So I turned my face toward America, and crossed the briny Atlantic Ocean with my bare feet running like a riverboat paddle across the waves. Sometimes I scampered across the backs of whales. A school of dolphins tried to keep up with me, but they could not. I saw them leaping in the moonlight. When I woke up, the bottom ruffle of my nightgown was wet, and little bitty strings of seaweed were clinging to it.”

Once Ruby asked Miss Arbutus, “Did you have such vivid dreams when you were small like me?”

And Miss Arbutus responded, “Oh, yes. When I was
about ten I had a dog called Stinky. I named him that because he loved to roll in smelly stuff, and he got a bath more often than I did. Anyway, when he was clean, he slept at the foot of my bed.

“One night when I was suffering from a high fever, I had a nightmare. I dreamed that Stinky and I were climbing around the edge of a volcano when I suddenly slipped and fell. I fell and fell for the longest time, and I knew that I would land in a pool of fiery lava! I could feel the heat rising to meet me. Then I heard Stinky. I looked up and saw him peeping down at me over the rim of the volcano, and barking his silly head off. He was urging me to wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

“And I actually did come to myself in my own bed, drenched with sweat. My fever had broken. Stinky was there sleeping at my feet, twitching and whimpering. I knew he was still in the dream, so I shook him awake. He was so tickled to see me alive, he jumped all over me and licked my face.”

When they grew weary, Ruby would go to her cozy room, which Miss Arbutus had decorated for her in ruffled yellow and white, with purple pansies embroidered on her curtains and pillow shams.

Before turning out the light, Ruby always stood before the window and gazed at the hills against the night sky. Though she could not remember her parents, she thought of them, and wished them health and happiness.

“And don't forget me,” she always added. “Woo-bee is right here waiting for you.”

Then Ruby climbed into bed. The pansy curtains fluttered in the mountain breeze as her eyes closed. Sometimes she woke up in the wee hours of the morning to find a lady in her room, sitting very still in an armchair by the window. At such times a hazy memory floated to the surface of Ruby's mind—a memory of being held and rocked beside a window, through which she could see snow falling.

If Ruby sat up in bed, or said anything, the woman disappeared into the shadows. So she learned that if she was to keep this lady, who was
surely
her mother, then she must not move or speak. She would drift off to sleep again, and the morning daylight revealed nobody in the chair.

I
N HER SUMMER SHORTS AND SANDALS
, R
UBY WAS PULLING
the Radio Flyer down Ward Street on her way to the bank on a bright Monday before noon. Having passed the seventh grade, she was soon to celebrate another birthday—which was believed to be her thirteenth—on the anniversary of her sudden appearance at the courthouse.

School had closed on Friday, and to the children of Way Down it was the beginning of summer, even though that season had not officially arrived by the calendar.

Ruby was deep in daydreams about what she would buy on her birthday with her current batch of S&H Green Stamps, when suddenly she heard somebody shrieking.

“Take that, you little monster!”

“Ouch!” Someone else yelped in pain.

Ruby stopped walking. Ahead she could see Reese Mullins from The Boxcar Grill. He was in Ruby's grade at school.

“Not again!” Ruby said out loud, for she knew what
the yelling was all about. Ninety-year-old Mrs. Rife, owner of Rife's Five and Dime Store, was throwing rocks. She had been doing this off and on ever since she retired from the store about five years before.

On several occasions, Mayor Chambers had scolded Mrs. Rife about that very bad habit of hers, but she would pretend she couldn't hear him.

“Say what? Say what?” she would screech at him, holding a hand up to her ear. “You'll have to speak louder. I'm old and nearly deef!”

The mayor had been heard to comment that while some old people were hard of hearing, Mrs. Rife was simply hard of listening.

What Ruby usually did during these rock-throwing episodes was try to hide behind other people's shrubs as she approached Mrs. Rife's house—not an easy task when you're pulling a wagon. Upon reaching the Rife house, she would make a mad dash down the sidewalk.

It wasn't too hard to get out of Mrs. Rife's range. For one thing, she stood on her front porch, which was a good piece from the street, and for another, she couldn't throw hard. Furthermore, the rocks Mrs. Rife selected were not large, but they still hurt, and the old lady's age didn't seem to interfere with her aim.

Ruby sprinted just in time. A rock whizzed by her head.

“I'll get you yet!” Mrs. Rife hollered. “You mangy stray!”

Ruby caught up with Reese, who was holding his elbow. Well, at least he hadn't been hit in the head.

“You okay, Reese?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back at Mrs. Rife with a scowl. “What's the matter with that nutty old woman?”

“You said it—she's nutty,” Ruby said. “Where you going to?”

“I'm going back to work. I took some sandwiches to the crew that's fixing up the schoolhouse. They tipped me, see?”

He showed a nickel in the palm of his hand. “Can I buy you a Hershey bar with my nickel, Ruby June?”

All the townspeople considered Ruby a natural beauty, but to Reese she was the girl of his dreams. He had never hidden the fact that he liked her better than anybody.

Ruby shook her head. “No thanks, Reese. You keep your nickel.”

“Will you come and eat dinner with me at The Boxcar?”

“I can't, Reese, but I thank you kindly.”

“I'll fix you a hot dog with chili and a bottle of pop, no charge.”

“That would be real good, Reese, but I can't make it today.”

“Another day?”

“Maybe.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

They were approaching Busy Street, where Ruby would turn to go to the bank and Reese would keep going straight to cross the bridge over Deep Creek to The Boxcar Grill.

“This nickel reminds me of a song. Can I sing it to you, Ruby June?”

He was always being reminded of some silly song or other.

“No! Bye, Reese.” And she began to run—fast.

Reese started singing anyhow. She knew he would. In his own mind he was the second coming of Hank Williams, but to everybody else he was as off-key as a hillbilly slung up drunk on moonshine. And was he
loud
!

“Now if I had a nickel I know what I would do

I'd spend it all for candy and give it all to you . . .
'Cause that's how much I love you, baby!
That's how much I love you!”

The people on the street were much amused at the spectacle of Reese Mullins trying to sing a love song to Ruby June.

“Ain't that the cutest thing?” they said to one another as they stopped to watch.

“Look at Ruby June's face, would you? It's as red as her hair!”

Ruby's empty wagon clanged along behind her, so
noisy it nearabout drowned out Reese's song—nearabout, but not quite.

“Now if you were a horsefly and I an old grey mare,

I'd stand and let you bite me and never move a hair . . .
'Cause that's how much I love you, baby!
That's how much I love you!”

Ruby rushed past the offices of Mr. and Mrs. Doctor, parked her wagon outside the bank, and hurried inside, relieved to close the door behind her.

R
UBY WELCOMED THE PEACE AND COOLNESS INSIDE THE
BANK. It was all dark wood and wine carpet, and had the only chandelier in town. It dangled over the heads of several customers waiting in line. One of them was a stranger—an unusually short man wearing denim overalls and a T-shirt.

The lone teller finished with one customer, another approached the window, and the stranger moved to the head of the line as Ruby took her place at the end. Mrs. Bevins, the barber's wife, was in front of her. This lady was much celebrated in Way Down for her extraordinary wardrobe. She often went to Charleston to shop for clothes.

No other woman in West Virginia would be caught dead wearing eye shadow in the daytime. But Mrs. Bevins always painted her eyes to match her outfit. That day she was wearing a dress of shimmery twill, as green as a pickle. On her massive feet were dyed-to-match Indian moccasins. Ruby wondered if the dye bled on
Mrs. Bevins's feet and made them as green as the rest of her.

There was a reason for Ruby's special attention to the shoes—moccasins were “in.” She thought Miss Arbutus might give her a pair for her birthday, white ones, of course.

“Good morning, Ruby June.” Mrs. Bevins turned to speak to her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bevins. I love your outfit.”

“Thank you, Ruby June.” Mrs. Bevins flushed, fluttered her eyelids, and gave the green dress a slight swirl. “Just something I threw together.”

“And how's the family, Mrs. Bevins?”

“Doing good, except for Lantha. She's a bit peaked with a summer cold.”

“Ooo, poor thing,” Ruby sympathized. “I always say there's nothing nastier than a summer cold. Why, you don't mind a cold in January. You expect it, don't you? But who wants a cold when you can't lay out of school?”

Mrs. Morgan, from Morgan's Drug Store, entered the bank and took her place in line behind Ruby.

“Good morning, Ruby June,” said Mrs. Morgan.

“Good morning, Mrs. Morgan,” she said. “How's Juanita and Jude and Edna and Slim, and Mr. Morgan?”

“In good health, Ruby June, and what are you up to today?”

Ruby produced an envelope from her shorts pocket. “I came in to make a deposit for Miss Arbutus—twenty-five dollars.”

“How is Miss Arbutus? I don't reckon I've seen her in a month of Sundays. Is she as backward as ever?”

Ruby did not get a chance to respond, because at that moment the short stranger jumped out of line and started waving a gun around with one hand and a brown paper bag with the other.

“This is a holdup!” he shouted.

The bank customers sucked in air together as if they were fixing to sing on cue.

“Heah me?” the stranger hollered more forcefully. “A holdup! Just do as I say and you won't get hurt.”

Except for Mrs. Morgan placing a hand on Ruby's arm, nobody moved. They just stood looking at the man.

“All right, then,” the gunman said, handing the bag to the teller. “Here, miss, take this poke and fill it full of money.”

“Miss” was Shelby Chambers, a pretty young thing only recently married to Wally Chambers, son of the mayor. She did not take the bag. With one hand on her heart she swayed precariously, the blood drained from her face, and she crumbled like a rag doll onto the floor behind the counter.

“Now what? Now what?” the man muttered, seeming totally confounded.

Mr. Dales, the bank president, appeared from a back office behind the teller's window. He stopped in his tracks and surveyed the scene.