We started climbing up those wood rungs Dare had hammered to the tree, and the whole time we were climbing, they bombarded us with BB shots and mud bombs. There was nothing we could do but duck our heads and dodge. It was worse than I can tell you, Mr. Marsworth. Boom boom boom boom boom.
And then somehow Dare lost his footing, and he tumbled from the tree, and I watched him fly right past me and crash onto the ground.
“He ain’t hurt,” Cutler said, but blood was gushing from Dare’s head, and I could see the bones and guts inside the gash. I shook Dare hard and called his name, but he wouldn’t budge.
I begged him to wake up, but I couldn’t even get a blink.
Float was licking at Dare’s face, and whining something terrible, but Dare didn’t move an inch.
Snow Cone watched it from the road, and ran for help.
I was sure that they had killed him, and every time I close my eyes, I still smell Dare’s blood mucked in his hair, and see him lying openmouthed, unconscious, and all the terror that I felt, shaking him awake, it’s still here in my body, even now.
I hope you’ve never had to see that, Mr. Marsworth.
I hope you’ll never have to worry your brother might be dead.
The cowards Rat and Cutler didn’t come down from the tree stand, they just called Dare a faker and told him to get up.
Dare still hadn’t moved when I heard the wail of the sirens, and Dare was still unconscious when Sherriff Cutler got out of the car.
I don’t want to write about that man, I really don’t.
Or those near-killers, Rat and Cutler.
I bet he beat them both, he was steaming mad about the BB gun and mud bombs.
I hope they go to jail where they belong.
If one good thing comes from Dare being hurt, it’s those two bullies locked in juvie until the day THEY die.
Billy says we should be grateful Dare’s out of danger now. (That’s the GREAT news, Mr. Marsworth!!!) He’s wide awake with a jagged line of thick black stitches, and blood still crusted in his hair, and a brand-new scar to go with all the others that he’s earned. His right arm’s in a cast, and he’s too dizzy yet to read, or keep his balance walking or do division in his head. The doctor says a couple weeks of bed rest ought to help Dare heal. Billy’s right about the grateful, but I still want Rat and Cutler to pay for what they’ve done. Someone has to stop the terrible things they could do next.
Ooops—Billy just got off the elevator. I’ll write more when I can.
Hater of All Hospitals,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. It’s bedtime, Mr. Marsworth, and tomorrow morning Dare is coming home! Already!!!! Dad says it’s too expensive to pay a hospital to feed Dare root beer Popsicles and all the ice cream he can eat. OH!!!! THAT’S THE BIGGEST NEWS TODAY! Dad called from North Dakota, and we all passed the phone around Dare’s room, and we each got one quick minute, except Dare got five or ten. The rest of us just listened while Dare joked with Dad about having Dad’s hard head, and how he’d look twice as tough with one more scar, and the cast on his right arm itched, but he’d scratch it with a stick as soon as he got home. “They got me saying ABCs.” Dare laughed his tough guy laugh. “That’s how dumb they think I am.”
Dare was quiet for a minute, then he said, “No, don’t come home just for me, I’ll be all right.” His voice choked up a little, and we all watched Dare listen to whatever Dad said next. “Sure I’m sure,” Dare finally said, and we knew what Dad was asking: He was asking twice if he needed to come home.
If it were me, I’d tell Dad to come home. I want Dad to come home.
I’ll never leave my kids for one whole summer. Never ever, Mr. Marsworth.
P.P.S. Can I tell you something secret, Mr. Marsworth? It was strange and sad and lonely to hear Dad’s growly voice after all these months. He sounded beat and worried, and a little grumpy, too. “What in God’s name happened, Reen?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for my answer, and I’m not sure I could have told him, because too much has happened here this summer with him gone. “Gram says you’re scrapping with the Cutler kid, and mouthing off on Vietnam, and marching like a hippie, and somehow Billy wrote to the paper to say that he won’t serve.”
“We’re both against the war,” I said, and I wondered if he’d read a single letter that I’d wrote. “I wrote that to you, Dad. You didn’t write back.”
“I don’t have the hours, Reen,” Dad said. “And I’ve got three of you to write. Gram can’t take the trouble you kids are dishing out.”
I looked across the bed where Gram had her wrinkled hand over Dare’s good arm. Her gray curls were flat and frizzed. Her eyes exhausted.
“We’re sorry,” I told Dad. “But Billy got her back into the bridge club.”
“What is that about Gram’s bridge club?” Dad said, confused. “Look, you can’t turn against your country, no matter what you think about this war. You or Billy. You’re old enough to know that.”
“We’re not,” I said. “And he might still go to college.”
“On that scholarship?” Dad said, and I was glad he’d read THAT letter. “To Brandenbrook? Who’s behind that, Reen?”
“I guess that college just found him,” I lied, and I wished I could have said, “It was your best friend’s father, Mr. Marsworth,” but I kept that to myself, because it isn’t what you want. Maybe someday, Mr. Marsworth.
“That so?” Dad said like he’d caught me in that lie. “I’m almost out of time, Reen, and I want a word with Billy. Be good for Gram, love you to the moon.”
“Love you, too,” I said, and I tried to picture Dad’s wide face, the freckled skin, the red hair shaved close to his head, or to remember his big arms, the strong way Dad would hug me, sometimes Dare and me together, squished against his chest. “I’m saving Billy, Dad,” I said. “You remember what Mom wanted?”
“Of course.” Dad sighed again. “All of us love Billy. Now put him on the phone.”
I don’t know why I wrote that, Mr. Marsworth, one long boring conversation word for word. Maybe you don’t care what a dad says to his kid. But I know you liked Frank Kelly, and maybe after all these years you’d want to hear his voice. It’s good to hear a voice. Does he sound much like he sounded as a kid? How long has it been since you and Dad have talked?
I hope when he comes home we can be the Marsworths and the Kellys once again.
P.P.P.S. I’m doing Dare’s WHOLE route now. Me, all by myself. Billy begged to help, but I said no. The sack is twice as heavy, but I’m not the weakling that I was when I got my route in June. If I’m late dropping your paper, I hope you won’t be mad. Dare says he’ll be down for just a week. I bet he’s right!
Wednesday, August 21, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
Thank you for your letter.
I cannot tell you how concerned I’ve been since learning of Dare’s fall.
The news came to us from Mavis Barnes, the dispatcher for the sheriff, and when she said there’d been trouble at my cottage, I feared first for you and Dare.
There was little she would offer, except to say Dare tumbled from a tree, and he’d been taken by ambulance to a city hospital for help.
Please say how I might help you, dear Miss Kelly? Is there something I can do for Dare? Or any of your family?
After Mavis phoned, I asked Carl Grace to drive me to the cottage, so I could see the tree stand where Dare fell. I so wished your summer refuge had remained a place of joy.
May I tell you one good thing? Sometimes one good thing can help the heart. (I remember what you write me.)
Despite the harm that’s come to Dare, you have made a place of peace out of that cottage, and I hope you will return. The fresh white paint, the angry words all gone, the weeds cleared from the yard, those shutters cobalt blue. That little garden of bright marigolds you planted near the porch. It all looks near
ly as lovely as those years when Danny spent his summers running through those woods with Frank and Betsy at his side. I should have come to see it sooner; I’m sorry that I didn’t.
Thank you, dear Miss Kelly, for giving it your love.
I’m aware in many ways you’ve had a summer filled with strife, but I hope you will remember all the good you have accomplished. Ingenuity. So much good for one young girl to bring into the world.
I have no doubt your great love for your brother will help Dare Kelly heal.
Your Friend,
H. W. Marsworth
P.S. I went into the shed to find that box of Danny’s baseball cards you once told me Dare admired. Please pass them on to Dare with my best wishes for good health. Danny’s cards are his to keep. They aren’t much good to anyone sitting in that shed.
P.P.S. I shall eagerly await your updates on Dare’s health.
Thursday, August 22, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
Baseball cards, and a gallon of fudge ripple, and Carl Grace with Gram’s new window, and a stack of brand-new comic books for Dare!!!!!!!!!
You sent all that to the Kellys because Dare fell from your tree???
We don’t blame you for Dare’s accident, no one thinks that it’s your fault. It could have happened anywhere those rotten boys had been. Still, Dare’s delighted with the baseball cards and ice cream, and the Spider-Man and Batman comic books. Right now, he’s upstairs in Gram’s attic (Dare and Float get my twin bed, I get the floor) with Danny’s precious baseball cards spread out on the sheet. He’s quizzing Snow Cone on the players while she decorates his cast.
What else? The new window made Gram teary. (She would never say that, please don’t tell her that I told!) Did you know Carl Grace had to take it to another town just to get it fixed? Mr. Rash won’t do business with the Kellys anymore.
Carl Grace and Billy hung the window in the frame, and now the sun is gleaming through that bright glass, and Carl Grace and Billy are talking in Gram’s driveway, their heads bent close together like the two of them are friends. Do you think they’re talking about Brandenbrook??? I hope so.
Gram’s gone to the drugstore, and I’m trying to write this letter, but in between, I’m opening the door to the women of Lake Liberty, with their get-well hot dishes, and brownies, and coffee cakes, and worried questions about Dare. Even Ardis Lindstrom delivered warm blueberry cobbler. She asked kindly after Dare, so I guess not everybody holds a grudge over our protest. Or at least they don’t hate Gram.
Earlier today, Mrs. Brindle brought Dare a basket filled with candy, which she said he had to share: Tootsie Rolls, Turkish Taffy, Snickers bars, Bazooka gum, Twizzler sticks, Starbursts, Milky Ways, and more, and she told Billy he could scrape and paint her boathouse if he still needed summer work. She can’t pay what Mr. Casey did, but at least Billy could earn some.
That’s a lot of kindness. Don’t you think so, Mr. Marsworth?
Wait! Breaking news out in Gram’s driveway . . .
Carl Grace just reached into his car for an envelope for Billy. Now they both looked back toward Gram’s house to make sure that no one saw. (I saw, but I’m a spy.)
Did Carl Grace have news from Brandenbrook??? Is it something about Vietnam? The draft? Why would he have an envelope for Billy? Tell me if you know!
I’ll try to worm it out of Billy, but just in case I can’t, will you get it out of Carl Grace and write back ASAP?
Not Too Nosy for My Own Good,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. Guess what, Mr. Marsworth!! Billy just climbed into Carl Grace’s car and left without a word. Carl Grace and Billy going where???? And to do what?????
P.P.S. Okay, Billy finally came back to Gram’s on foot, and he won’t tell me where he went with Carl Grace or why. He just said, “Go play now, Reen,” but he said it in a sad way that made me worry more.
“Did you get bad news about the draft?” I asked, but he said no. “Brandenbrook?” I said, because I could see the cloud of worry in his eyes. “You’re not getting sent to Vietnam?”
“I’m right here with you, Pup,” he said, but then he said to go upstairs with Dare and Snow Cone, while he sat alone on Gram’s old sofa, staring at his hands the way he does in church.
I didn’t go play with Dare and Snow Cone. Right now, I’m holed up in Gram’s bathroom finishing this last P.S. to you. Could you talk to Carl Grace ASAP???? Will you find out where they went? Or why Billy wants to mope down on Gram’s sofa by himself???
And where did Billy put that envelope? It wasn’t in his hand when he came into Gram’s house. Do you know what was inside it, Mr. Marsworth???
I’m only going to worry, Mr. Marsworth.
I’m going to run this to your house now. PLEASE answer me tonight!!!!
Thursday, August 22, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
I went back for an answer, but my letter was still there. When you pick it up tomorrow morning with your paper, you’ll find this second batch of weird news waiting in your box. And I hope you’ll answer both my letters, because:
I’m worried about Billy.
I know you won’t believe what happened here tonight.
In a strange day that just got stranger, Rat (Tony RATacheck to be precise, Gram won’t let me call him Rat) showed up at Gram’s front door with his Rat mom. Gram had the nerve to let OUR MORTAL ENEMY come into our house. Him, and his crappy homemade card, and his Jiffy jar of money, and a stupid blue balloon.
Tony Rat Baloney. Tony Phony. That’s all that I could think of when he mumbled he was sorry, and he hoped that Dare was better, and he hoped we could be friends.
FRIENDS????????????????????
He said it all to his ripped sneakers and Gram’s floor, without a single look at me, until his mother yanked his chin up, and made him say a second sorry.
“Get lost,” I said, and I headed toward the attic stairs so I could be the first to tell Dare that Rat was in OUR HOUSE.
“You get back here, Reen,” Gram ordered. “I mean it. Right now, Miss.”
“But Dare,” I said. “He wouldn’t want him here.”
“You let Dare get his sleep,” Gram said. “You can listen to this now.”
I sat down on the attic steps, so I could hate him from a distance without seeing his rat face. After everything he’d done—nearly killing Dare, Misery, the worms shoved down my shirt, papers stolen from my customers, the Milk Duds at the movies, the dog poop in Dare’s tent, that day they fought me on the street, kicked me in the stomach, and started this whole war, that chicken on your gate, Gram’s tires slashed—I wasn’t going to listen to that kid.
“Your brother gonna be okay?” Rat finally asked.
“You mean King Kong?” I said, sarcastic. “He has a name.”
“It’s Darrel,” Gram said.
“Okay,” Rat said. “Will Darrel be all right?”
“In time,” Gram said. “But his injury was serious, and it could have been much worse. He may have some trouble reading, at least for a short while. And dizziness. Plus the doctor bills. The hospital.”
“Oh Blanche,” Mrs. Rat said, “I’m so sorry, I just am.” Her white waitress shoes were filthy, and her Country Café uniform was stained with food and grease. “We’ll help out all we can, I swear we will. Tony has his paper route, and he’ll give you what he’s saved, plus all he earns. And I’ll—”
“You didn’t throw those rocks,” Gram said. “We shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes these kids all make.” Gram said “all” like we were just as bad as Rat.
“I suppose that’s true,” Mrs. Rat said, and she gave a glance toward Billy. “Don’t you think the war this summer is bringing out the worst?”
“The worst,” Gram said, like she was blaming Billy instead of blaming slimy Rat for nearly killing Dare.
Mrs.
Rat must have agreed, because she suddenly asked Billy, “Are you the one that wrote the paper?”
“I am,” Billy answered firmly. “But that’s not Dare and Reen—”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Rat said. “But when you write against our country, and our soldiers, even children will get angry, and they should. Tony’s father was a Green Beret.”
“Billy didn’t write against our country, or our soldiers,” I corrected Mrs. Rat. “He wrote against the draft, and the war in Vietnam.”
“Same thing,” Rat said. “All of it is traitor talk.”
“I’m not a traitor, Tony,” Billy said. “I just disagree. You shouldn’t hurt Reen or Dare for what I’ve done.”
“No one’s hurting anyone,” Gram ordered. “This fighting can’t continue, I’m sure we all agree to that. Letter or no letter.”
“Absolutely,” Mrs. Rat said.
“It’s not from Billy’s letter.” I crossed my arms to keep from shaking, and I kept my butt glued to that step so I wouldn’t bolt across the room to smash that scrawny kid. “They’ve been mean to us all summer, before Billy ever wrote against the draft. Ask him what he did! Just ask! To us and Mr. Marsworth.”
“Let’s leave Marsworth out of this now, Reen,” Gram said, and Mrs. Rat didn’t argue. “I was under the impression Tony’s here to make amends for what he’s done. Not start another fight.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Rat agreed, and she nudged Tony with a shove. “Tony?”
“I made a card for Darrel,” Rat said. He passed it off to Gram, then he handed her the money jar, and the sagging blue balloon. “And I guess I’m going to visit every afternoon until he’s well. My mom got a book on baseball from the library, I guess I’m coming here to read so he can rest.”
“You’re not coming HERE,” I said. “And, Dare hates books.”
Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth Page 19
