by L. L. Samson
Kyle showed Tom his rock collection. Tom admired the glittering amethyst crystals in Kyle’s favorite geode. Tom recounted the adventures of his campouts along the Mississippi River with Joe and Huck. Walter stopped breathing at the mention of those names, but the two chattered on, bouncing like spring crickets from subject to subject. Clearly, Kyle wasn’t as well versed in literature as he was proficient in mathematics. Normally, I would not view this favorably. But in this case, thank goodness!
Tom stood and returned the geode to the shelf above the desk. He pointed at Kyle’s wheelchair. “What’s that for?”
“It’s my legs most of the time.”
Tom didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t walk.” Kyle zeroed in on Tom’s face, ready for all the fun to pack up and leave in the twinkling of an eye. (Personification and an allusion to Saint Paul! I must be on a roll!)
“Why, that’s awful!” Tom plopped down on the bed next to Kyle.
“It’s not so bad.” Kyle reached for the arm of his spiffy black set of wheels and then hefted himself onto the seat. He positioned his feet on the platforms designed to hold them, and then spun the chair around the center of the room. “Maybe someday you can take it for a spin. Down in the park.”
Tom figured that would be a heap of fun and said so.
seven
Owls Aren’t the Only Creatures Who Stay Up Late
or If You’re Going to Wander Around after Lights Out, Don’t Forget Your Chalk
Ophelia pulled one of Linus’s beanies over Tom’s hair.
“There. Now nobody will see you in the dark.”
“Stealth,” said Linus, looking like Tom’s older brother. Both wore black sweatpants, a black hoodie, and dark beanies. “Ready, kid?”
“I reckon I am!” Excitement jangled through Tom’s limbs. Linus had won Tom over earlier that afternoon with a walk around Kingscross, explaining how cars, among other things, work.
“So they’re akin to steamboats on wheels,” said Tom, “only not powered by steam, but some kind of water. What was it again?”
“Gasoline,” answered Linus.
“You’re much better at s’plainin’ than that other boy,” Tom said.
Linus, relying on steamboats to explain electricity, too, was surprised at how Tom picked up a basic grasp of our more rudimentary technology with little effort. “A quick study,” he told Ophelia later.
“Not surprising. He’s the leader of his friend group and has an inventive, creative mind,” she informed him.
Courageous too, she thought as the trio and their smaller charge skulked (sneaked) across the school basement to the mouth of the not-so-secret tunnel. Ophelia rooted in her jacket pocket. “I’ve got several pieces of chalk this time and extra batteries, just in case.”
Linus held up the water bottle dangling from his fingers.
Walter patted his pocket, indicating that he’d completed his task of preparing for their expedition. “Energy bars at the ready—if need be,” he said.
Nobody wanted “if need be,” except maybe Tom. But he knew better than anyone that a person could get lost in a cave and still be found.
“Did you leave the note?” asked Walter.
“I did,” said Ophelia. “It’s on my nightstand.”
If they lost their way, somebody needed to know the specific vicinity of their disappearance. A general vanishing would do no one any good.
It does my heart proud to think of young people employing that much common sense. Hopefully, you are of the same ilk (kind)—unlike many of the reality TV dullards who parade their nincompoop selves across television screens today. (I simply love the word nincompoop. Don’t you?)
“You sure you’re okay to go in with us, mate?” asked Walter.
“We got McDougal’s Cave back home. I probably know them as good—”
“As well,” interrupted Ophelia.
“—as well as anybody. Except for Injun Joe maybe, but …” His gaze dropped to the floor, and he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “I ain’t skeered, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not scared,” said Ophelia.
The rumor mill of The Pierce School had provided everyone with the news that the tunnel was to be sealed on Monday. “In any case,” said Walter, “it’s now or never.”
Walter led the group and Linus brought up the rear, leaving Tom and Ophelia sandwiched between the two older boys. Ophelia kept her right hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“You think we’ll find a secret lair?’ asked Tom, about three minutes in.
Ophelia laughed. “I doubt it. Criminals don’t seem to use places like this for hideouts anymore.” She further contemplated the thought. “Well, I don’t know why they don’t, really. It would make sense.”
Walter agreed. “You’d think people would take advantage of locations like this more often. Who would think to look for stolen goods hidden in nature?” Walter, though a reformed pickpocket and petty thief, still possessed the reasoning skills of one. “It would be brilliant, really. Providing the entrance is kept a secret.”
“There’s your problem,” said Linus.
“People have a hard time with that.” Ophelia squeezed Tom’s shoulder. “And some secrets should never be secrets in the first place.”
He whipped his head around to look at her, shocked. “You know ‘bout that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, how do you like that? You was tellin’ the truth when you said you knowed everything.”
“Don’t tell her that,” said Linus before Ophelia could correct Tom. “She’ll never let us forget it.”
They arrived at the larger tunnel. Ophelia drew an arrow on the tunnel wall, pointing back in the direction from which they’d come. “Right or left?” she asked.
They shrugged.
“I’m feeling left, then,” she said. “If I’m not mistaken, going to the right will lead us further into town, and the left will take us out toward the country.”
Nobody really agreed or disagreed, having no theories of their own on the matter.
So left they went, remaining in the same formation.
As they walked along for five more minutes, Tom trailed his hand along the hewn limestone walls. “These ain’t no caves,” he said.
“These aren’t caves,” said Ophelia.
“He’s right,” Linus agreed, as they came to a stop.
The older boys shone their flashlights all around.
“Definitely tunnels,” said Walter. “I mean, we knew that. I just thought it would lead to a cave.”
“What do you think these tunnels were for?” Ophelia asked.
“Dunno,” said Walter. “But whatever it was, the Pierce family must have had something to do with it.”
They continued exploring, leaving chalk arrows every so often to mark the return path. Side corridors dumped into the principal path they explored.
“Do you think they go to other houses?” asked Ophelia. What an intriguing find! Her story-loving mind switched on; but here in the dark, she could only conjure giant hamsters running about a stone maze.
“Don’t know that either.” Walter stopped. “I say we just forge ahead on this path. It’s getting wider and wider. And there’s a slight incline too.”
“I noticed,” said Linus.
“What time is it?” Walter turned and shone his light on Ophelia.
She checked her watch in the beam of Walter’s flashlight. “Twelve-thirty.”
“Seriously?” asked Linus.
“Time gets powerful funny underground,” Tom informed them.
“He should know,” said Ophelia. “Tom and Becky Thatcher were lost in McDougal’s Cave for several days. Most of St. Petersburg, Missouri, thought they were dead. And they’d put forth quite a search too.”
“It was a heap a fun at first. Then we got skeered. But I had to be brave for Becky. Somebody’s got to stay brave at times like that.”
&nbs
p; Ophelia admired Tom for keeping his wits about him, and she told him so.
He replied, “Aww, shucks. You’d a done the same thing.”
“You would have done the same thing,” corrected Ophelia.
“Let’s try for the end of this passage,” said Walter, “and see where we end up.”
“Lead the way, intrepid trailblazer,” said Ophelia.
Walter grinned and moved forward.
Forty minutes later, their fingers and noses tipped with chill, the path widened and dumped them into—
“A cave!” said Walter, the light from his flashlight melting away in the larger space.
“A real cave!” Tom cried.
“Finally,” said Linus, shining his light as well.
The four of them still stood in a line, no longer front to back, but side by side.
“Wow.” Ophelia circled her flashlight beam around the space, adding her light to the others’. “Look!” she said, halting the beam on a set of empty metal shelves, a bedroll on a cot, and a kerosene lamp.
Walter whistled. “So we’re not the only ones who know about this place.”
As the younger set says, “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
“Look!” Tom pointed to a large opening in the far wall.
They proceeded toward it and soon stood at the mouth of the cave. Hanging vines veiled the entry. Walter drew them aside like a curtain.
The moon, small, clear, and brighter than all three flashlights combined, illumined the silver water coursing before them.
“The Bard,” said Linus.
“I don’t like it.” Walter pointed his flashlight just outside the cave’s mouth. “Something feels wrong. The mud of the banks has been recently disturbed, and look.” He shone the beam at their feet. “Muddy footprints. Several sets.”
“And what are those shelves for?” Ophelia wondered.
“Pirates!” cried Tom. “I knowed it!”
“I knew it. And there aren’t any pirates around here,” said Ophelia.
Maybe in Somalia, thought Linus.
“Although they have them in Somalia,” Ophelia said, wondering where she’d read that fact.
“Where’s that?” asked Tom.
“Africa.” Linus scratched his head through his beanie.
“This is a mystery for sure,” said Walter.
“Maybe if we find out the reason for the tunnels, we might get a clue.” Ophelia looked up and down the river. “We’re not far from the dam.”
“We’d better get back.” Walter turned and led the way back to the passageway.
Five minutes into the return journey, Tom said, “I still think it’s pirates.”
The others laughed and shoved him playfully.
The fact is, Tom was closer to the truth than any of them.
You see, my dears, sometimes the phrase “older and wiser” need not apply. The trio erroneously (mistakenly) assumed Tom was simply being a fanciful little boy. But none of them had found secret treasure, been lost in a cave system for days, or witnessed a murder. Only Tom Sawyer could make that claim, and that experience surely counts for something.
eight
Those Tickets Ain’t Worth Much Around These Parts, Mister
or Colloquialism (Heavily Accented Speech) Becomes Annoying after a While, but Not as Annoying as a Self-Righteous Know-It-All
Tom Sawyer, accustomed to sneaking out at night and having to wake up for school the next morning, awakened at seven, despite a 3 A.M. bedtime.
Ophelia snored on the blue sofa, or I suppose so. Linus swears she snores like a seventy-year-old man, so why should that night have been any different?
Tom deemed another trip to Paris Park a fine idea. He decided the black pants and T-shirt he’d slept in were clean enough. Actually, count that as a leap on my part. The more I ponder, the more I believe Tom Sawyer would not have given one thought to his clothing. Make sure your characters act according to their, well, character.
Only, Ophelia failed to realize any of that when she awakened at nine o’clock to find Tom Sawyer gone!
She rushed downstairs and checked the bedrooms. Linus sleeping. No Tom.
The panic surging through her veins swept everything she’d read about Tom Sawyer along with it. She forgot he was wily (street smart) and not given to panic. She forgot he had been out and about on explorations for years. She forgot children were afforded more freedom where he came from.
But she remembered he might forget to look both ways while crossing the street.
Darting out of her bedroom, she ran into Uncle Augustus. “Oh!”
“My dear! What’s all this?” He had shaved his mustache, thank goodness.
“Did you see a … little boy?”
His eyes, bleached the pale blue of a humid summer sky, sparkled. “I certainly did! And you’ll hardly believe what he told me.”
As you correctly assume, Aunt Portia knew about the circle. Augustus remained oblivious.
Oh great, thought Ophelia. “I can’t wait to hear.”
“He said his name is Tom Sawyer. Isn’t that delightful? He even claimed to be from Missouri. Too bad he wasn’t at the soiree!”
Ophelia grasped for something to say. Nothing came to mind.
Uncle Augustus filled in the space. “I asked him if he was a student at The Pierce School. He said yes.”
Ophelia blew out a sigh of relief.
“He seems a tad young,” Uncle Augustus continued.
“Prodigy!” Ophelia blurted. “Tom’s a writing prodigy!”
A prodigy is someone exceedingly excellent in, usually, a particular area, collecting and maintaining skills from early childhood onward of such proficiency that it boggles the minds of ordinary people. Mozart, a prodigy, composed his first symphony at the age of four. Beyond “gifted,” prodigies are living miracles, rare specimens of humankind. You, most likely, aren’t one of them, but don’t let that concern you. You shouldn’t be any less proud of your accomplishments.
You see, dear reader, you’re a very unique collection of gifts and talents. Add to those the people who love you and the experiences, good and bad, that you’ve collected over the years, and you are as equipped as any prodigy to fulfill a grand purpose. How was that, Mom and Dad?
If you feel as if you’ve just consumed a gallon of maple syrup, take it up with the guidance counselor—preferably in a registered letter. Thank you. Call again!
Uncle Augustus raised his eyebrows. “He seemed quite normal to me. A writing prodigy, hmm? His grammar was abysmal.” (Extremely or hopelessly bad.)
“Did he say where he was going?” Ophelia prudently (wisely) figured the old saying “the less said, the better” applied to the current circumstances.
“I assume back to the school. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for church? Father Lou has invited us over for Sunday dinner afterward.”
“I forgot!” Ophelia turned and ran back down the hallway.
“Breakfast in fifteen,” he called.
“Not hungry!” she responded.
She dashed into Linus’s room. “Wake up!” She poked his shoulder.
Linus opened his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes! Tom’s gone. Uncle Auggie met him and thinks he goes to school next-door. And Father Lou is having us over for Sunday dinner.”
“The connection?” He sat up and reached for the T-shirt he’d cast aside during the night.
“We’ve got to find Tom before church!” Honestly, sometimes she wondered about her brother’s brain. “You don’t think the bullies will be around on a Sunday morning, do you?”
“Probably not. You’re overreacting.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Linus Easterday.”
“I’ll get Walt.”
“I’ll get changed.”
Ophelia felt stupid. The trio stood on the river path watching Tom race Kyle’s wheelchair farther down the way.
“I should have come here first before I bothered you guys,” she said. “I
’m sorry.”
“No worries,” Walter said. “I wanted to take a run anyway.” He broke into a canter toward Tom and Kyle, waving to the boys as he passed.
“They look like they’re having fun,” she said.
“Yep.” Linus, like a lot of insomniacs, got his best sleep between five and nine in the morning. So when somebody wakes him for no reason, well—”They sure do.”
“Okay, Mr. Cranky.”
A minute later they joined Kyle on the bench where he sat looking as happy as they’d ever seen him.
“Guess what?” he cried. “You’ll never believe it!”
“Tell ‘em!” said Tom, practically skidding the wheelchair to a stop in front of them.
“I decided to read my literature assignment—”
Please don’t let it be The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Ophelia thought.
“—over there by the playground. And those bullies came around.”
Linus looked at Ophelia just in time to see her daggered gaze in his direction. See?
“One of them started making fun of me,” Kyle continued. “I tried to joke it off. You kinda get used to it. But the smallest of the group—”
“Usually the one with the loudest mouth,” said Walter who’d circled back around, his curiosity greater than his need to train.
“Uh-huh. He just kept going. It was getting pretty mean.”
Tom jumped to his feet, the wheelchair rolling out from behind him several feet. “And I heard ‘em! I knowed what was a-goin’ to happen next!”
Linus and Walter looked at Ophelia.
“I knew what was going to happen next,” she said anyway.
Kyle nodded wildly. “He sure did! I didn’t even know he was around, when all of a sudden he went after that guy! His fists were going like crazy!”
Tom puffed out his chest. “I reckon I’ll have me another black eye to match this here one come tomorrow mornin’!”
A deep purple crescent earned in yesterday’s fight seemed to hold up his eyeball. Ophelia winced. So much for being good at taking care of children.
Linus worked himself up for the speech. It couldn’t be helped. Annoying times sometimes called for equally annoying measures. He leaned against the jamb of the bathroom door. “We’ve got to call a moratorium (a stop) on all of the grammar correction,” he said, willing to speak two pages worth of dialogue if it would shut his sister up.
