Don't Let the Wind Catch You (LeGarde Mysteries Book 6)

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  He used the same line every morning, but we always laughed. His small corner drugstore in Conaroga had kept us fed and clothed since I was born. I was proud, and loved seeing him in his white coat behind the counter when we went in to visit him.

  He was about to plant a big kiss on my forehead when Siegfried mashed his face against our screen door. I warned my father with round eyes and a headshake.

  He ruffled my hair instead, saving me from humiliation. "Morning, Siegfried." Dad passed him on the way out, ruffling his hair as well. "My goodness. Someone needs a haircut."

  I wanted to make a comment about my parents letting me grow my hair like his, but I stopped when I saw Siegfried's face. He edged inside the door, but didn't seem like himself. His face looked tight and he moved to my side with urgency.

  "Want to go for a ride?" His eyes screamed "emergency."

  "Sure." I grabbed my plate and orange juice glass and set them in the sink. Shadow trotted behind me, but I was afraid he'd get lost again in the woods. He couldn't resist the trail of every chipmunk, squirrel, and rabbit in the county. "Shadow, you stay here. See ya later, Mum."

  We bolted outside with my mother's words, "Don't slam the door" in our ears. The door slammed anyway. I shouted an apology over my shoulder, and we careened into the barn.

  "What's wrong?" I took him by the shoulders and stared into his widened blue eyes. "And where the heck is Elsbeth?"

  He pointed to Pancho, who pushed the last morsels of his grain around in his bin. "Hurry. Get your horse."

  Frisbee was tethered to the lilac bushes on the other side of the porch. Sig raced toward him.

  "Wait! What's wrong?"

  He skidded to a stop inside the barn door. "She's gone to the Ambuscade woods to see the hermit. By herself."

  I froze for a moment, held my questions, and hurried to bridle Pancho. With a quick sweep of a rag over his neck and ears, I applied the fly spray I knew we'd need in the deep woods. I checked his feet quickly for stones, dislodged one with the hoof pick, and led him outside in less than two minutes. Siegfried had already mounted and started down the driveway, beckoning to me with an impatient hand wave.

  I led Pancho outside and grabbed a hunk of black mane. With a well-practiced leap, I jumped Indian style to my horse's back and clamped my legs tight around his barrel. Gathering the reins, I urged him forward. "Come on, boy. Let's go!" He didn't hesitate, but catapulted into a fast canter to catch up with Frisbee. I moved him over to the grassy edge of the driveway to keep more stones out of his hooves, and we flew in the cool morning air toward the fast-moving haunches of the black and white pinto, already in a gallop.

  A thousand questions raced through my mind, but I trusted Siegfried's judgment and knew we'd waste time by talking. When we reached the end of the driveway, Frisbee tried to turn left to go home. We always called him a "barn baby," because like most horses he loved his stall—and the food that resided within—more than he loved anything else. Siegfried pulled his head to the right and clicked his teeth. "Come on, boy. This way."

  I caught up to them. Pancho tried to slow down when he reached his pal, but I squeezed my legs and leaned forward, pushing him into a faster canter. "Not here, boy. Don't stop. Come on. Let's go."

  When Frisbee saw Pancho wheel out of the driveway and gallop past him, his ears pricked and he stopped fighting to go home. I glanced back and saw him dig into the ground with renewed energy. He caught up to us in seconds. We galloped side by side up Sullivan Road to the summit. Dirt flew behind us in clouds, and all we could hear was the sound of our horses' hooves pounding the dirt road.

  Sig leaned low over Frisbee's neck, clutching his black and white mane between his fingers. We descended the hill and turned right on Barber Hill Road, and in five minutes we reached Maple Beach, a gently sloping two-mile tarred road that stretched from the western ridge of Conesus Lake down toward the water. The horses slowed automatically, and we trotted slowly across when it was safe. Once we reached the other side of Barber Hill, the horses picked up speed again and we galloped toward the turn for David Gray Hill Road to the Lakeview Cemetery overlooking Conesus Lake.

  Up another hill and down the next, we finally made it to the access road that led to the Ambuscade. No cars were parked there, so we wouldn't be stopped for conversation by tourists or family friends.

  We passed the monument, cantered up the grassy hill toward the woods, and slowed to a trot to enter the narrow forest path. Siegfried and Frisbee led the way.

  I shouted to Siegfried. "How do you know she's here?"

  He called back to me over his shoulder. "We fought about it last night. I told her we shouldn't come back. But she heard stories about the hermit's past from one of her girlfriends at the library after dinner last night. She mentioned him to her friend Sally Ornberger, who said she'd heard rumors about him having a broken heart."

  I followed his lead when he bent down to avoid the low hanging branches and looping grape vines. "Why would she go alone, though? That's crazy."

  "We had a big argument. She said someone needed to reach out to the old man. I said she should leave him in peace. This morning she was gone before we got up and left a note, saying she went for a ride."

  "Weird. She wasn't even scared?"

  He turned onto the path leading to the shack and twisted around with a grim smile. "My sister's not afraid of anything anymore. That's what scares me the most." The trail widened and he urged Frisbee into a trot. "Come on."

  I pressed my calves against Pancho's sides and he moved into a slow jog. With renewed fear, I followed Sig into the darkening forest.

  Chapter Seven

  When we arrived at the hermit's shack, the forest seemed to wail a warning. A gust of wind blew in tight circles beneath the maple and cottonwood trees, rustling leaves and flattening clusters of ferns. Siegfried and I exchanged a nervous glance, dismounting behind the bushes near the stone wall. Elsbeth's horse wasn't in sight, but I realized she might have hidden him before she investigated the shack. No smoke curled from the chimney, and the hermit's old pickup truck was gone.

  Siegfried leaned toward me and whispered close to my ear. "He's not home."

  I straightened and spoke in a normal voice. "Then where's Elsbeth?"

  "I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if she was snooping around inside."

  I hopped over the stone wall and called to him over my shoulder. "Let's check it out."

  Siegfried's reservations seemed to fade when I took the lead. He almost beat me to the front door.

  I knocked and waited, just to be sure. Aside from the sound of a cardinal chirping in a wild cherry tree nearby, it was quiet. I pushed gently on the door to test it. It moved inward with a ragged squeak.

  Sig sidled next to me and called into the cabin. "Mr. Tully? Elsbeth?"

  When no one answered, I boldly walked through the door. "Elsbeth? You in here?" In spite of my bravado, my heart danced a twisted tango and my palms grew sweaty.

  Sig pushed past me and started to look around the rustic room. An enormous black woodstove took center stage, surrounded by a saggy couch, two frayed armchairs, various small tables fashioned from rough wooden planks and orange crates, a battery-operated radio, and oil lamps set on various pieces of furniture. In the corner stood a neat stack of firewood. The hermit's rifle leaned against the wall behind the front door. I shuddered when I remembered him pointing it at my chest.

  A well pump protruded from a metal stand beside a wooden pie cabinet where the hermit kept his dishes. Another rough-hewn table stood near the tiny counter with salt and pepper shakers, a roll of paper towels, and a clean coffee mug on top. The rest of the cooking implements hung on a wall to the left of the front door. Two cast iron skillets, a big ladle, a soup pot, an assortment of small pots, and a red enamel coffee pot hung on hooks and nails. There was no refrigerator, and as we noticed yesterday, no electricity.

  A cot hugged the back wall, with two striped woolen blankets folded neatly at the base. Thr
ee wooden storage boxes were tucked beneath the cot, probably for the hermit's clothing, since I didn't see a bureau or closet. A copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn lay open on the stand at the head of the bed.

  "No bathroom?" I said, heading for the book.

  Siegfried glanced out a back window and pointed. "Outhouse. Over there."

  "Yuck." I wrinkled my nose. "They smell so bad."

  "I know. But he has no power, so there's not much of a choice."

  I peered out the window the hermit had opened when he yelled at us. "Where the heck is Elsbeth?" The sound of giggling wafted behind me. It was muted and soft, and almost too faint to be real. I whirled and searched the room. "Elsbeth? Are you hiding on us?"

  Sig looked at me like I was nuts. "She's not here, Gus."

  "Didn't you hear her?"

  He shook his head and stared at me just as the laugh came again, this time from outside. His eyes grew wide and a German profanity slipped from his lips. "Scheisse! What was that?"

  We ran outside and circled the house when we didn't see her out front. Sig cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled his sister's name. No one answered.

  We circled back to the front of the house. My mouth dropped open when the front door swung shut. "She's inside!"

  Frustrated now, I scrambled back inside, expecting to see an eleven-year-old girl with dark curls laughing at us. Instead, I saw nothing. We stood inside and listened. Siegfried looked up at the roof. "Maybe she's up there."

  "Elsbeth hates heights. She wouldn't climb on the roof."

  "Ja. You're right. But—" His musings stopped when the Huck Finn book started flipping pages. On its own.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my feet froze to the floor. I watched the pages move, like someone had wet a finger and turned each slowly to scan the words. The room filled with the scent of peppermint, as if a specter had just unwrapped a roll of Wintergreen LifeSavers. When the weird singing began, my feet became unstuck and I flew out of the door with Siegfried so close behind I could hear his ragged panting inches from my ears.

  "Schnell!" He took the lead and leapt onto Frisbee's back. Seconds after him, I flew to Pancho, pulled his head toward the dirt road, and squeezed his sides hard. "Come on, boy. Move!"

  One minute into our mad dash for sanity, I pulled Pancho up short and stopped to listen. The sound of truck tires driving on the dirt road was followed by the sputter of an engine. "He's coming! The hermit's coming."

  Siegfried's face turned white. He pulled Frisbee's head around and made a U-turn. "This way!" I followed him onto a less familiar trail, and leaned down to grab Pancho's mane as both horses thundered along the trail at a fast gallop.

  Chapter Eight

  Siegfried and I finally stopped our mad flight when we arrived at a field of sunflowers. The heavy-headed stalks stretched hundreds of acres over a gently rolling hill that sloped toward the Conesus Lake basin. The view of the westernmost Finger Lake was phenomenal, showcased by two hilly ridges that cradled the shimmering basin of water.

  I slid off Pancho's back and tied him to a black locust tree. He jerked his head back, loosening the reins to allow him to let reach the tall grass at the bottom of the tree.

  Siegfried jumped off Frisbee's back and tethered him on a nearby honeysuckle bush.

  I found a log to sit on and made room for Sig beside me. With my head in my hands, I swayed and moaned. "What the heck was that?"

  Siegfried looked paler than I'd ever seen him. A scared boy sat in the place of my quiet, knowing friend. He rubbed his eyes with his hand, then ran it along his slack jaw. Without saying a word, he shook his head over and over again. Finally, he brushed back his enviably long blond hair and looked me straight in the eyes. "It's just not possible."

  I slid down to the soft dirt beside the log and leaned back, closing my eyes. "I know. If you hadn't been there, I would've thought I was dreaming."

  We sat quietly for a while, trying to absorb the weirdness of it all. I pulled absentmindedly on a grape vine that ran along the log, and rolled one of the leaves into a little ball. I tossed it up and down, catching it with one hand and throwing it with the other. My eyes stayed unfocused, however, and the scene kept playing itself over and over in my brain.

  Visions of the Huck Finn pages flipping by themselves sent shudders of nerves down to my toes. The weird singing ended up stuck in my brain. It reminded me in a strange way of the minor tunes in Chopin's mazurkas. "It was the same weird singing we heard the first time."

  Siegfried looked ill. "I know. I heard it, but it's not possible."

  "Could there have been a really strong breeze blowing the door shut and turning the pages?"

  He looked dubious. "I don't know."

  I wanted to believe a rational explanation, but couldn't make the thought stick. "The windows were closed. But the front door was open."

  "What about the singing? Could it have been from the radio?"

  "It wasn't on. I checked it when we were looking around."

  "Mein Gott." He stood up and paced in a tight circle, waving his arms to the heavens. "I never thought the day would come." He plopped down on the log again, turning to me with an intensity I hadn't seen since he was studying for the advanced placement tests in algebra a year ago. "Gustave LeGarde. You and I may have made history. We have been witness to the shenanigans of a real ghost."

  "Holy mackerel." I thought about telling my parents, and then realized I couldn't. They'd forbidden me to enter the woods or to bother the hermit. How would they react if they knew I'd actually trespassed and gone right into his house?

  Siegfried suddenly stared into the woods with an alarmed expression on his face.

  "What is it?" I stood up and followed his gaze.

  "Look. Golden Boy. And Elsbeth's not with him."

  Without a word, we mounted and cantered toward Elspeth's gelding, who nibbled on the grass growing along a track running outside of the sunflower field.

  "He looks okay." I dismounted and ran my hands down his legs, checking him for injuries. "Maybe he just got loose from where she tied him."

  Siegfried shook his head. "No. Something's wrong." He walked up to the palomino and gently snagged the reins. "Come on. We've got to find her."

  Pancho and I followed them into the woods near the area where Golden Boy had emerged. After a few faltering tries, we found a curvy dirt road overgrown with tall weeds.

  "Do you think we should tell our parents?" I asked. Dread squirmed in my stomach, making me feel queasy.

  "No. She's my twin. I feel something. We have to keep going."

  I urged Pancho into a fast trot to catch up to Frisbee. Golden Boy quietly jogged in tow beside the pinto. When the trail straightened, Siegfried moved them into a canter. Pancho switched gaits without a signal. The canopy of leaves overhead opened up, letting more sunlight onto the road. We continued for another five minutes, until Siegfried stopped, holding up his hand.

  We listened closely. A deerfly buzzed around Pancho's ears. A plane droned high in the sky. And when I finally figured we'd taken the wrong turn, the sound of a young girl's voice floated toward us on the air.

  "Elsbeth!" Siegfried spurred his mount into a fast trot toward a clearing. Both horses wheeled around the corner, stirring up clouds of dust. I kicked Pancho and we followed close on their tails.

  Elsbeth's voice sounded weak, but I made out her words. "Help. Please help me."

  I saw her in the distance. She lay huddled on her side near an abandoned old house with broken windows and scores of missing shingles. We hurried to her and jumped to the ground. I reached her first, but Siegfried pushed past me to inspect the damage.

  He cradled her head and whispered to her with an urgency born of fear. "What happened?"

  On her forehead, a bloody gash congealed in a nasty looking puddle. Her left ankle was swollen, all puffy and purple. She tried to sit up, but couldn't.

  "I was scouting around this old house, when we flushed a tu
rkey out of the brush over there." She pointed with a shaky finger toward the woods. "Golden Boy shied—really bad—and I fell. My leg got twisted."

  I scooted beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Can you get up? We could boost you onto Golden Boy and get you home. You'll probably need crutches, you know."

  She shook her head. "I don't know if I can get up. I feel dizzy."

  Something inside me took a step toward manhood. "You'll ride with me, then." I stooped over her, put one hand under her knees and the other around her back. With one swift lunge I picked her up and carried her toward Pancho. Siegfried ran ahead and held him while I managed to slide her onto his back.

  I turned to Siegfried. "Give me a boost, will you?"

  "Ja. Naturlich." He laced both hands together and offered me a step up. "Up you go."

  With a swift thrust, he propelled me high in the air. I landed lightly on Pancho's back, snugging behind Elsbeth, and clucked to Pancho. "Okay, boy. Let's go. Walk on, now. Nice and easy."

  The sensations I felt while pressed behind Elsbeth confused me. Although I'd always been protective of her, this was different. Sweeter, it coursed through my blood and made me want to lay my head on the soft curls on her shoulder. I didn't, of course. I didn't want them to think I was a nerd.

  Chapter Nine

  On the way home, Siegfried trotted up beside us when the trail widened enough for three horses to walk side by side. He pushed his long forelock aside and peered at his sister. "What were you doing out there by that old broken down house, anyway?"

  The fire burning in her dark brown eyes seemed familiar, but sparked more than usual. She turned to Siegfried. "I think we should make it our next fort. The front door looked open, and I saw some furniture in there."

  Siegfried rolled his eyes. Playing house wasn't his idea of fun. He'd rather solve a complex math problem or calculate the angle of reflection of sunlight on a body of water.

  I turned Pancho left at the junction heading toward the Ambuscade and leaned forward to whisper in Elsbeth's ears. "I'll check out the place with you. It would make a neat fort."