by Lois Duncan
“You know how cruel children can be to anybody who stands out from the crowd. There’s always one poor kid they all gang up on. Well, that year Brad lucked out. He was the chosen one. The girls made fun of him because he was short, and the boys wouldn’t let him into the gang because he was ‘pretty.’ They called him ‘Bradina,’ because they said he looked like a girl. He spent every recess sitting by himself at the top of the monkey bars because there wasn’t anybody who would play with him.”
“How did you get to be his friend?” Tracy asked her.
“Mainly, I guess, because I was different also. I had three older brothers and was kind of a tomboy. I was tall for my age and strong and very athletic. Even the class bullies knew better than to mess with me. I never could stand to see people hurt other people, so at first I stood up for Brad because I was sorry for him. Then later it was because I got to like him. I guess I was lonely too. I needed a friend.”
“Has he always been treated badly at school?” asked Tracy.
“No, it was just that one year, until he got his growth spurt. By that time, though, he and I were such close friends that neither of us had much need for other people. Also, Brad was having problems at home, and I was the only one he felt he could discuss them with.”
“What was happening to him at home?”
“His folks weren’t getting along, and he was caught in the middle,” said Jamie. “He couldn’t seem to please one without upsetting the other. He never felt totally right about anything he did; either his father was irritated or his mother was crying.
“It finally got so he learned how to split himself in half. He’d say whatever it took to please whichever one of his parents he was with. He’d go hunting with his dad, for instance, and have a terrific time, and then when he got back with his mom, he’d act like his dad had forced him to go and the trip had been boring.”
“In other words,” said Tracy, “he taught himself to lie.”
“I don’t consider that lying,” Jamie said defensively. “Lying is when you deliberately make things up. I guess I’d call what Brad does ‘wishful thinking.’ He doesn’t tell lies; he believes everything he says.”
“Did he invent the fact that his father died?”
“Of course not,” said Jamie. “Brad’s a little mixed up, but he isn’t nuts. It happened when he and his dad were up in the mountains. Brad’s mother had thrown a fit about their going. It was Brad’s birthday, and she wanted him to spend it at home.
“It was while they were up there that Mr. Johnson had his heart attack. Brad had to hike all the way down to the village to get help. By the time he got hold of the forest rangers and they drove back up in a pickup, his dad was dead. Brad’s mother fell all apart when she heard the news. She kept screaming at Brad that if he hadn’t agreed to go up there, his father would have stayed home and he wouldn’t have died.”
“He could have had a heart attack at home just as well.”
“Her point was that if that had happened they could have gotten him to a hospital. Even when she doesn’t make sense, she can be convincing. She spent the next six months in a sanitarium. Brad felt he was responsible for putting her there. He’s been scared ever since that she might have another breakdown. He’s so overloaded with guilt he can hardly stagger.”
“You called him ‘a little mixed up,’ ” Tracy said sarcastically. “It sounds to me like he’s a lot more disturbed than that. To convince himself that a strange little girl is his sister—”
“It’s his way of keeping himself from cracking,” said Jamie. “My mom thinks Brad ought to have professional counseling. I didn’t used to agree, but now I guess I have to.”
“What if he doesn’t go back to Albuquerque?” asked Tracy. “I thought that’s where he and Cricket and I were headed, but the fact that he’s taken off on his own like this makes it look like he’s changed his mind and gone somewhere else.”
“Where else could he go? He’s got that little kid with him. You can’t drag a three-year-old all around the country.”
“Does he have any relatives besides his mother?”
“An aunt and some cousins up north somewhere, but he hardly knows them. He and I have had our own private buddy system going for so many years that Brad doesn’t have anybody else he’s close to.”
The two girls sat in silence for several moments.
Tracy tried to recall the exact conversation she and Brad had held in the car. The only place he had talked about then was Albuquerque, a “city in a bowl that’s surrounded by mountains.” She had told him about New York—the high buildings, going to museums with her mother, going to Central Park with her father. He had responded by telling her about the forests and mountains of New Mexico that were “more beautiful than anything you could ever imagine.”
“That cabin in the mountains!” she said suddenly. “Do you think that might be where Brad has taken Cricket?”
“Of course!” exclaimed Jamie. “Why didn’t I think of that! Brad always takes off for the cabin when things pile up on him.”
“Do you know where it is?” Tracy asked her.
“I’ve only been up there once. My folks didn’t go for the idea of Brad and me spending the night there together, and it was hardly worth the trip to go up for just a day. Even so, I bet I could find it if we drove there. It was eight or so miles north of Terrero, on the bank of a stream.”
The waitress who had brought Tracy her coffee and sweet rolls materialized behind Jamie’s chair.
“Would you like to order, miss?”
“No, thanks,” said Jamie. “We’re going to have to be leaving.”
“Your boyfriend never did come back for you, did he?” the waitress asked Tracy.
“It looks like I’ve been ditched,” Tracy told her wryly.
“Men! I’ll tell you, you can’t depend on a one of them!” the girl said. “At least it’s good your sister could come and get you.”
“My sister?” Tracy repeated.
“Aren’t you girls sisters? I was sure you were, you look so much alike.”
“We’re not sisters,” said Jamie, staring across at Tracy. “I can see, though, how you might have thought we were. We’re the same height and build, and we both wear our hair pulled back from our faces.”
“And your eyes,” the waitress added. “You’ve got the same eyes.”
Tracy nodded. “I guess that answers my question.”
“What question?” asked Jamie.
“Why I was the one Brad chose to be his accomplice.”
Chapter 17
EVER SINCE HE HAD pulled off the freeway, Brad had been feeling light-headed and exuberant, as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was always that way when he came into the last lap of the journey to the cabin. The vast spaciousness of the landscape between Albuquerque and Santa Fe and the stretches of empty desert that had bordered the highway for miles were now behind him, and he was surrounded by the lush greenery of mountain forestland.
He relaxed in his seat and breathed deeply, greedily inhaling the tangy aroma of pine sap and the clear, clean scent of rushing water in turbulent streams.
He could not believe it had taken him so long to realize that this was where he had to come. If he’d had any sense, he would have planned this from the beginning. It had been a mistake, he now realized, ever even to have entertained the thought of permitting Tracy to accompany them on their flight from Winfield. She should have been left there to deal with the consequences of her own stupid actions. If she had not delayed their leave-taking with her stubborn insistence upon packing up Mindy’s clothing, he and his sister would have been safely out of the Carver house long before Mindy’s uncle returned for his forgotten theater tickets.
Tracy the Traitor! What had caused her to turn against him? He had placed his faith in her, and she had proved herself unworthy. He had been stunned to emerge from the café dining room to see her standing in an alcove making a phone call. Her back ha
d been to him, and he could not hear what she was saying, but he had known at once that she had to be turning them in either to the Carvers back in Winfield or to the Rock Springs police.
He should never have asked her to help him in the first place. Still, at the time there had seemed to be no alternative. If Jamie had been willing to come with him, it would have been different. Together, he and Jamie could accomplish anything. He still had not figured out what had happened to Jamie to have made her so reluctant to help him find Mindy. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she had snapped at him, as though what he was proposing was the scheme of a madman.
Well, Jamie would soon have to acknowledge how wrong she had been. He had managed to accomplish what she had termed impossible. The question now was when and how he should contact her. His plan had changed considerably since leaving Winfield, and he was no longer contemplating a quick return to Albuquerque. His thought now was just to pack in at the cabin for a while and allow himself time to become reacquainted with Mindy. Then, when he was ready, he would drive down to the base of the mountain and use a telephone at the village to get in touch with Jamie.
He would offer her the chance to drive up to join them, but only if she told nobody where she was going. A vision sprang into his mind of himself and Jamie at the cabin, not just vacationing, but living there on a permanent basis. He pictured himself standing out by the stream in the first iridescent light of dawn, wearing his father’s boots and waders. He could hear himself shouting, as his father had so often shouted, “Get up, you lazy kid! We’ve got trout for breakfast!”
He envisioned Jamie, plodding groggily out of the bedroom and then coming to life when she saw the number of fish on his line. Mindy would be with her, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, with one cheek pinker than the other from the pressure of her pillow. He would start coffee brewing and put the fish on to fry, while Jamie got Mindy dressed and combed the snarls from her hair. After breakfast they might go for a hike in the woods or take a walk through the field out in front of the cabin. He could see himself and Jamie strolling hand in hand through the meadow while Mindy bounded ahead, chasing clouds of white butterflies.
The more he thought about it, the more appealing the prospect seemed—he, Jamie, and Mindy, a unit all to themselves. They could do whatever they wanted without interference. No one would even know where the three of them were.
Not even his mother. His initial plan had been to bring Mindy home to her, but he was beginning to realize she did not deserve such a present. It was he who had had to do everything to locate Mindy. His mother had been unsupportive, uncooperative and uncaring in a way that was strange and unnatural in a loving woman. Was it Jamie or Tracy who had asked him, “Doesn’t she want her daughter found?” At the time he had instinctively jumped to her defense. Now, however, he had to admit the question was well-founded. If his mother had truly cared about getting Mindy back, she would have made some effort to aid him in his search for her.
He turned his head now to glance across at his sister.
“How are you doing, Mindy baby?” he asked her.
Mindy sat huddled on the far side of the seat with her thumb in her mouth.
“Cricket wants breffuss.” The pathetic half whisper was muffled by her hand.
“I know you want breakfast,” Brad said. “There hasn’t been a restaurant to stop at.”
“The Froot Loop place,” the child countered.
“I explained to you about that place. The food there wasn’t good. It would have made us sick.”
“It had Froot Loops!” Mindy protested.
“But they were bad Froot Loops. They would have given you a tummy ache.”
“Where’s Tracy?” Mindy asked him. “Cricket wants Tracy.”
“Tracy was busy on the telephone. She couldn’t come with us.”
“I want Mommy,” the little girl said, and began to whimper.
“Now, don’t start that crying again,” Brad told her, struggling to be patient. “I didn’t have breakfast either, and I’m as hungry as you are. In fact, I’m going to stop right now and get us some food. Around that bend in the road up ahead there’s a little store. We’ll stop there and load up on groceries, and I’ll be sure to get Froot Loops.”
The store was the same one he had had in mind as a logical place to be calling from when he had phoned the Hansons from Winfield and said he was in the Pecos. Stopping there now, he first filled the car at the self-serve pump in front of the store, and then, leaving Mindy curled up in the front seat to wait for him, he went inside to pay for the gas and purchase supplies.
“Brad! Hey, boy, how’s it going?” The man behind the counter greeted him warmly. “Long time, no see! I’ve been wondering if you were going to come up this spring.”
“Hi, Renzo! Good to see you! You’re looking great,” Brad said. “Are the trout really biting like it says in the newspapers?”
“They’ll tear the hook off the line,” Renzo said with a chuckle. “Oh, on the subject of things you read in the papers …” His voice lost its effervescence and became low and somber. “Back last fall, I read about your family tragedy. I sure am sorry about what happened to your sister. I meant to send you and your ma a card, but time got away from me, and I didn’t get it done.”
“That’s okay,” Brad said. “It was rough for a while, but it’s over now. We’ve got her back, and in the long run, that’s all that matters.”
The man stared at him blankly.
“You’ve—got her back?!”
“She’s outside in the car right now,” Brad told him. “I need to stock up on stuff for us to take to the cabin. It seems the kid’s turned into a sugared-cereal freak. You wouldn’t happen to have any Froot Loops, would you?”
“Sure,” Renzo said slowly. “I got all sorts of sugared cereal. That’s all anybody who comes up here ever asks for. It’s on the shelf at the back right next to the Pop-Tarts.” He paused. “Now, run this past me again. You say you’ve got your sister back?”
“She’s right out there in the car,” Brad repeated.
“In that blue Chevy parked out there by the gas pump?”
“That’s a pretty safe bet, considering it’s the only car in the lot.”
While Renzo turned to stare out the window, Brad took a basket from the rack by the door and went to the back of the store to load it with groceries. As he did so, he ran through a mental list of the foods Mindy liked. Puddings in cans with pop-up lids. Cocoa with marshmallows. Hot dogs and dill pickles. A jar of spaghetti and meatballs. Ruffles potato chips.
After he had his basket filled with supplies, he carried it to the front of the store and set it down on the counter.
“So, how many sisters you got, Brad?” Renzo asked a bit too casually as he totaled up the bill.
“Only one,” Brad said.
“She younger or older than the one who got hit by the car?”
Brad regarded the man in bewilderment.
“I said, I only have one sister. All I’ve ever had is one sister. You can look out the window and see her there in the front seat.”
“I already saw the kid in the car,” said Renzo. “I guess I must be mixed up about what happened. It was somebody else who got killed, then, is that it? That newspaper story was wrong? It was another kid?”
“I don’t know what you read in the paper,” said Brad. “But as you can see, my sister’s doing just fine. I’m taking her up to the cabin to teach her to fish.”
He paid for the groceries, noting as he did so that he was running low on cash. When he phoned Jamie, he would have to ask her to bring up some money.
He went back out to the car, opened the rear door, and set the bags of groceries on the back seat. Then he climbed into the front and started the engine. Mindy was still in the same position in which he had left her. Her thumb was in her mouth, and her free arm was locked around the toy monkey.
“That thumb-sucking business has got to go,” Brad said. “Is that something y
ou started doing in Texas?”
The child regarded him solemnly and did not answer.
“I’m asking you a question, Mindy,” Brad said.
“Cricket,” the little girl murmured without removing the thumb from her mouth.
“Mindy,” Brad said. “Your name is Mindy, not Cricket. I can see where Jamie and I have our work cut out for us.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and turned east onto the road leading up from Terrero into the hills. The fact that this weekend was the culmination of spring break in the public schools was evidenced by the number of families who had come up to the mountains to wind up their children’s week-long holiday. In the camping area just beyond the village, pickup trucks, mobile homes, and campers were parked bumper to bumper. Any space that remained was jammed with pup tents and deck chairs, and the air was thick with smoke from charcoal grills. The blast of conflicting rock music played at top volume on an assortment of portable ghetto blasters all but drowned out the shrieks and laughter of romping children.
Beyond this, the road rose abruptly into the forest, looping back and forth in a series of hairpin curves. Steep and winding, it required skillful driving to maneuver, but each twist and turn revealed a spectacular new vista as pine woods gave way to groves of shimmering aspen and green meadows became frosted over with blue and yellow wildflowers. In one spot, a stand of silver birch trees stood out from the surrounding greenery, smooth and tapered as candles, and in another, a galloping stream hurled itself dramatically over the edge of a suicidal drop, only to resume its journey more placidly a hundred yards below.
As Brad took the car around a curve, a deer leapt out in front of him, so close that its feathered tail brushed against a fender, and farther on, a raccoon strolled casually along by the side of the road as though expecting the driver of some passing vehicle to stop and offer it a lift.
The dirt road leading to the cabin wound off into the trees just short of the access point to the footpaths and horse trails that led into the depths of the wilderness area. When he turned here, Brad had to shift down into first gear. The snows of the previous winter had engraved deep ruts in the hard packed earth, which spring rains had then filled with water, and the Chevy lurched and slid and floundered in mud as it inched its uncertain way forward and upward. Bushes scraped and slapped at the sides of the car, and branches clawed at the windows with sharp, taloned fingers, as though they were trying to force their way in through the glass.
