Mackenzie turned and looked at me, shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you already have a boyfriend!” I said hotly. “Stop being so boy crazy!”
She pulled her arm out of my grasp. “And you stop being just plain crazy!” she shot back.
Ella Bellow’s Maple Bread Pudding didn’t win, but neither did Mrs. Freeman’s Maple Fudge or Coach Maynard’s Maple Cream Pie. It was Mr. Henry who won, coming from behind with his Maple Walnut Cupcakes and scooping up the blue ribbon.
“Let’s go home and see if we can salvage what’s left of the evening, shall we?” my father said to us when it was all over and the last picture of the winner and his entry had been taken and the bookshop was empty again.
Fat chance, I thought, my eyes sliding over to Mackenzie. She’d been ignoring me ever since our blowup earlier.
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, J. T.?” asked my aunt.
“For starters, with some of your Bookshop Blondies, which are a winner in my book,” my father said gallantly.
“Mine too,” echoed Professor Rusty. “How about I swing by the General Store and pick up some vanilla ice cream to go with them?”
“You said ‘for starters,’ J. T.,” my mother said. “What else do you have in mind?”
My father looked around at all of us. He smiled. “Anyone interested in searching for the Underground Railroad’s hiding spot?”
CHAPTER 22
“Team Lovejoy will scour the main part of the house, top to bottom, while Team, uh, History Department tackles the family room and the garage,” ordered my father. We were back at Gramps and Lola’s house, where he’d slipped effortlessly into command mode. “Hatcher and Danny, you two start in the basement.”
My brothers exchanged a glance. “Can we maybe be in charge of the attic instead?” ventured Hatcher. He feels the same way I do about spiders.
“Show some team spirit, boys,” said my father, pointing to the cellar door. “Downstairs, on the double.”
Resigned to their fate, my brothers slouched off. The rest of us fanned out to search every nook and cranny we could think of, including closets, pantries, fireplaces—even bookshelves.
“Remember when we were stationed in Germany and went to Amsterdam to see the Anne Frank house?” my mother said as the two of us began to explore the living room. While I rooted around in the window seats—nothing but blankets and board games there—she ran her fingertips around the edges of the built-in bookcases that flanked the fireplace.
I nodded. Hatcher had read The Diary of Anne Frank as a school assignment that year, and he’d been the one who’d begged to go.
“Yeah,” I said, recalling the hinged bookcase that had concealed the Frank family’s hiding spot from the Nazis. “Do you think there’s something like that in our house?”
My mother shrugged. “You never know.”
In the end, though, we came up empty-handed. So did everyone else.
“Perhaps they just stashed the fugitives in one of the attic rooms until the coast was clear,” said Professor Rusty, running a hand through his hair. Aunt True, who was seated next to him on the front stairs, reached over and patted it back into place. Or tried to. Professor Rusty’s hair was pretty U-N-R-U-L-Y, as Annie Freeman would say.
“I thought for sure the fireplace in the family room held the key,” he continued morosely. “That was likely a summer kitchen back in the day, and I’ve read about a number of those big old fireplaces concealing secret chambers and passageways and trapdoors leading to tunnels.”
I could tell he was disappointed. So was I, actually. It would have been really cool to find the hiding place.
Lauren was the only one who refused to give up. While Mackenzie and I were showing Felicia the original Truly’s diary, my younger sister wandered around, knocking on walls and stairwells. She was still at it when bedtime rolled around.
“Good heavens, Lauren, let’s give it a rest, shall we?” said my mother. “Go get ready for bed.”
My sister’s gaze slid over to me. “We were supposed to finish reading the diary tonight.”
“I’m not reading anything with a double-crosser like you,” I told her. “Not after what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You told Professor Rusty about the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes!”
Lauren’s eyes widened in feigned innocence. “I did not!”
“You are such a bad liar!”
“So what if I did, anyway? Who cares about your stupid club!”
My mother put her hands on her hips, exasperated. “Girls! Just stop, would you? Between you two and the Bake-Off feud, I’ve had enough squabbling to last a lifetime. Lauren, get to bed. You can finish reading the diary in the morning. And, Truly, I don’t want to hear another word about any of this, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered.
Maybe she was feeling sorry for me because of my tears earlier in the evening, or maybe she was just tired and forgot, but my mother didn’t ask for the diary back. And I didn’t bring it up.
“I’m too tired to read any more tonight,” Mackenzie told me when we were back in my room. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, and I felt a pang of guilt. The two of us hadn’t talked since I’d lashed out at her earlier at the bookstore.
“Mind if I read ahead?”
“Nope.” She got into bed and rolled over, turning her back on me.
I gazed at her ruefully for a moment, then opened the diary to where we’d left off:
February 9, 1862
F arrived just before midnight. We have been waiting for weeks for this special delivery. Reverend Bartlett sent a note with one of the Harrington boys after breakfast, letting us know the shipment was finally on its way, and the reason for its delay. Mother Lovejoy and I were busy all day preparing.
Yours, Truly
February 11, 1862
Our single package is now two! F is terribly ill, however, with a rattling cough and fever. This was the reason for the delay. I am on duty as nurse, and doing the best I can, but with my own wee Booth to care for, and the threat of house search hanging over our heads, it is not easy.
Yours, Truly
Wait a minute, I thought, going back and rereading the entry. What did she mean by our single package is now two? I frowned, wondering if I’d missed something.
The next entry was very brief:
February 15, 1862
I have grown fond of this package. F and I have much in common, and much to talk about.
And then a few days later, this:
February 20, 1862
We heard the bloodhounds in the woods on Lovejoy Mountain tonight. Strangers are going door to door in town, with promises of fat payments for information, and neighbor looks at neighbor with suspicion. The owner is determined to get this package back, Reverend Bartlett tells us. No one is to be trusted. I must find a way to ensure safe passage—but F is too weak to be moved.
Yours, Truly
February 23, 1862
No word from Matthew in weeks. And worse, Mother Lovejoy has fallen ill too.
Yours, Truly
This did not sound good. I read on:
February 28, 1862
I have been awake for three days and am nearly at my wits’ end. Last night there was a knock at the door. Men I did not recognize were on the doorstep. Mother Lovejoy was taken by the fever, I told them. We are a house of death, I told them. They didn’t believe me, even when I showed them her coffin in the parlor, where it rests awaiting burial tomorrow. One man wanted to pry it open and see if I was telling the truth, but after I pleaded with him he relented. I am pale and hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, and they finally took pity on me and left, Gott sei dank.
I looked this one up in the German-English dictionary. “Gott sei Dank” meant “thank God.”
But they will be back. This I know. So tonight, whether the packages are ready or not, and
no matter how dear F has become to me, I must send them on to a safer place.
Yours, Truly
Mother Lovejoy died? I scanned the entry again, trying to understand. What safer place was Truly talking about? Maple Grove? Canada? How would the packages—the runaways—get there? Who was F? Could Truly manage it, right under the noses of the dogs and bounty hunters?
There were so many unanswered questions.
My eyelids were heavy by the time I finally closed the diary and switched off the light. Sleep didn’t come easily, though. I lay there for what felt like forever, thinking about what I’d just read. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d read. And when I did finally manage to drift off, my restless dreams were filled with baying bloodhounds and men with torches chasing desperate men and women on the run.
CHAPTER 23
“Knock it OFF, Lauren!”
I stuffed my head under my pillow, trying to block out the noise. Spurred on by last night’s fruitless basement-to-rafters search, my sister had redoubled her efforts to find the Underground Railroad’s secret hiding spot.
Sleep was impossible. I gave an exasperated sigh and threw my pillow over at Mackenzie. No response. Pushing myself up on my forearms, I glanced over at the air mattress. It was empty; my cousin was already up.
I found her downstairs, eating a banana with peanut butter and talking to my father. She was pleasant to me, but distant. Neither of us mentioned my outburst at the bookshop last night.
I yawned all the way to swim practice—never a good sign. This was the final morning of daily doubles. After today, regular once-a-day practice was going to be a breeze. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, savoring the prospect of sleeping in.
At the pool, Coach Maynard barely said a word to anyone. He just wrote down our workout on the whiteboard and motioned us into the pool.
“More sap lines were cut last night, after the Bake-Off,” Lucas reported in a whisper. “At the Freemans, too. I overheard people talking at Lou’s.”
Maybe Felicia Grunewald, Professor Rusty’s know-it-all research assistant, was right, I thought as I carved my way up and down my lane. Maybe the Pumpkin Falls Private Eyes wasn’t only a cretinous name, but also a totally cretinous idea.
I’d looked up “cretinous.” It meant “extremely stupid,” which we probably were. How on earth were a bunch of seventh graders supposed to solve a crime like this? Could even hope to end the feud?
Swimming usually helped clear my mind and cheer me up, but I was still feeling discouraged by the time practice finished. My cell phone buzzed as Mackenzie and I were in the locker room changing.
“It’s a text from Cha Cha,” I said. “She and Jasmine want to come over after breakfast.”
“Whatever.”
“Cha Cha says we can take you to see the steeple.”
“Fine.” Mackenzie’s voice was still cool; she wasn’t giving an inch.
The steeple on the First Parish Church is one of our town’s claims to fame, thanks to its bell, which was made by Paul Revere. I got to see it up close and way too personal earlier this winter. Mackenzie knew all about that fiasco, of course, and she’d been pestering me all week for a tour of the steeple. Now it didn’t seem like she cared.
“I can’t believe you’re only here for two more days!” my mother lamented to Mackenzie a little while later, when the two of us sat down to breakfast—French toast, my favorite. “This week has just flown by, darlin’.”
“Yep.” My cousin picked up her fork and started to eat, while I just stared at my plate.
My mother regarded the two of us thoughtfully. “Y’all better make the most of it,” she continued lightly. “You won’t get to see one another again until summer vacation.”
I glanced over at Mackenzie, struck by another pang of guilt. The day after tomorrow she’d be on the plane back to Texas. I needed to patch things up somehow—if that was even possible at this point.
“How did the kitten deliveries go yesterday?” my mother asked, setting a plate in front of Pippa.
“We gave away thix,” my little sister told her proudly.
“Six? That is impressive,” my mother replied, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. She turned to Lauren. “Did you feed Bilbo this morning?”
My sister looked up from her book—The House of Dies Drear, one of the ones from the stack that Mr. Henry had given to my mother—and nodded.
“I remember that book!” I told her, figuring I’d better start extending olive branches if I really wanted to patch things up with my cousin. “It totally creeped me out. All those secret tunnels and that weird guy who lived in that cave—”
“Annie wants me to spend the night,” Lauren interrupted, ignoring me. Mackenzie didn’t even look up from her French toast. So much for olive branches.
My mother frowned. “This is an awfully busy week for the Freemans. The last thing they probably need is a house guest.”
“I told them I’d help on the farm,” Lauren assured her.
“Why don’t I call Annie’s mother and see if Annie can have a sleepover here instead?”
My sister’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mom!”
After breakfast, Mackenzie and I walked Lauren and Pippa down the street to Belinda’s, where we found the former lunch lady grooving to the Beach Boys again as she vacuumed. Her house might be stuffed with cats, but it was spotless. Belinda loved to clean.
“Morning!” she shouted after we banged on the door about a hundred times. Pulling out an earbud, she flipped a switch on the vacuum cleaner, and it whined to a stop. I could hear the faint strains of “Help Me, Rhonda” coming from her dangling earbud.
“Any more kittens need delivering?” asked Lauren hopefully.
Belinda shook her head. “Sorry, sweetheart, that train has left the station. There’ll be more soon enough, though, never fear.” She looked over at Mackenzie. “I’m still counting on you to take one home with you.”
My cousin laughed. “I’ll ask my mother, but I’m pretty sure the answer is ‘no.’ ”
Cha Cha and Jasmine were already at my house by the time Mackenzie and I got back.
“I wish you could have come with us, Truly,” said Cha Cha. “We had a blast!”
“We had a very good reason for keeping her here in Pumpkin Falls,” my mother told her, and placing her hands on my cousin’s shoulders, she nudged her toward my friends. “Cha Cha, Jasmine, I’d like you to meet Mackenzie Gifford, my niece and Truly’s cousin.”
My friends smiled at Mackenzie, and she smiled back.
Bunting meets raven, I thought, glancing from my cousin to Jasmine, whose glossy dark hair was a constant source of envy. I would kill for hair like that.
“Hey, we got you something,” Cha Cha said, handing us each a gift bag. My friend Cha Cha isn’t like any bird I’ve ever seen—she’s more of a feline. Her hair is dark, too, but short, and as fluffy as one of Belinda’s kittens. I opened my present to find a T-shirt with a picture of a chicken roosting on top of the logo I CHICKENED OUT IN KEY WEST!
“There are these wild chickens all over the place that roam around on the streets,” Jasmine told us. “It’s kind of hilarious.”
“I love it!” I said.
“Me too,” said Mackenzie. “I’m going to put mine right on.”
She chattered away to my friends as the four of us went upstairs to my room, sounding so much like her usual self that my heart gave a hopeful lift. Maybe things would be okay between us after all.
But the tendril of hope quickly shriveled.
Mackenzie paused at the top of the stairs and turned to me as Cha Cha and Jasmine went on ahead down the hall to my room. “Don’t wear your T-shirt today,” she whispered. “I’m not into being twins.”
Hurt, I mumbled, “Okay.” The message couldn’t have been clearer: I was not forgiven.
“Hey, I brought something for you guys too,” Mackenzie said to Cha Cha and Jasmine, all smiles again as she went into my bedroom and cr
ossed to the closet. I knew what she was getting; she’d brought one for me, too, and she’d given one each to Lauren and Pippa as well.
“Super cute!” said Jasmine, when my cousin handed her a small ceramic cowboy boot with a big Texas Lone Star on it.
“Thanks, Mackenzie!” echoed Cha Cha. She plunked down cross-legged on my rug. “Now, tell us everything.”
CHAPTER 24
I left out the part about Scooter’s surprise birthday kiss, of course. No need to publicize that disaster, plus Jasmine was Scooter’s twin and would be seriously creeped out at the thought of her brother crushing on one of her friends. Not that he was crushing on me anymore. Mackenzie’s arrival had taken care of that.
I also didn’t bring up the fact that my cousin had bewitched every middle school male in Pumpkin Falls. Cha Cha and Jasmine would find that out for themselves soon enough.
I filled them in on the sap heist, and Jasmine’s eyes widened when I told them about the stakeout. “You seriously think it could be Bigfoot?”
I shrugged.
“The guys think so,” said Mackenzie, and Cha Cha shivered.
After that, my cousin showed them the loose floorboard in the closet where we’d found the original Truly’s diary. My friends listened openmouthed as I read aloud a few entries.
“That is the coolest thing ever! ” said Jasmine. “I can’t believe you have a secret compartment in your room!”
“I know, right?”
Cha Cha reached for the diary. I passed it to her, and she ran her hands over the smooth, worn leather. “This is amazing,” she said. “When you read the stuff she wrote, it’s like she’s right here in the room with us. The person you were named after and everything!”
“I wish I could talk to her,” I said. “There’s so much I want to know.” Before I could continue, though, my mother called to us from the front hall.
“Girls! That was Reverend Quinn on the phone—he says he’s got time to give Mackenzie a tour of the steeple, if you head over to the church right now!”
Leaving the diary safely tucked under my pillow, the four of us went back downstairs.
Yours Truly Page 17
