I followed Sig's gaze back up to the row of houses, whose lights had started to twinkle inside. "I just wish we'd found what we were looking for."
He sighed. "Ja. I hate to tell Mr. Tully we didn't find it."
"And Penni's gonna be disappointed. I think she was counting on us."
Light filled Sig's blue eyes, sharpening his gaze. "Wait a minute." He started pacing in a small circle, a sign that his brain was in overdrive. "We looked everywhere, didn't we?" He didn't wait for an answer. "And that diary from Mrs. Tully was written just before he was born. There were at least eighteen years of people staying at the cottage and many more years for her to rethink her strategy."
"So?"
"So maybe those important papers aren't in the cottage after all."
I rolled my eyes. "We already know that."
He stopped, grabbed my arm, and squeezed it. "No. What I mean is, it's got to be hidden at the Tully homestead. We need to go back and search that place one more time."
A twinge of excitement surged through me. "Yeah. We never really looked anywhere except the living room and Tully's closet."
For a moment, Sig reminded me of Sherlock Holmes after he'd just made an important discovery and felt incredibly smug about himself. He released my arm and grinned. "Precisely, my dear Watson."
I shot a glance at him and wondered if he'd read my mind. He slung an arm over my shoulder and we ambled after his sister in the thickening dusk.
Tomorrow, we'd drive home. But the next day could lead to a discovery that would change history books. I fake-punched him and darted out from under his arm. "Betcha can't beat me to Elsbeth!" I didn't give him fair notice, but raced away with hopes high in my heart. Maybe I'd beat him this time. And maybe we'd finally free Penni's spirit from her bonds on this earth.
Chapter Forty
My father dragged us out of bed at four in the morning, to "beat the traffic." He must have known what he was doing, because there were few people on Route 25 when we headed north toward the Mass Pike. After a grueling drive home, we dropped the twins at their farmhouse and finally pulled into our driveway.
Oscar's car was parked by the barn. He peeked out and waved at us, then disappeared inside. I figured he wanted to finish up the chores before socializing.
Shadow jumped from my lap with almost frantic glee and raced around the yard, yipping with his nose to the ground and the white tip on his tail pointed straight up. My parents stretched and rose slowly, and when I'd brought in our bags, my mother leaned down to kiss my head. "Thanks, sweetie. Now go find Oscar and invite him inside."
I'd planned to head out to the barn to check on Pancho, anyway. "Okay, Mum." I raced outdoors and luxuriated in the feeling of being able to move my arms and legs, to run free over the grass, and to inhale the sweet smells of home.
Momma Kitty and her three babies greeted me in the doorway. Butterscotch, the little cream-colored male, trotted toward me with a squeaky mew. I picked him up and the others trailed behind me.
"Oscar?" I poked my head into Pancho's stall, which was piled thick with fresh pine shavings. Two flakes of hay lay in the corner, and the bucket brimmed with cold fresh water. I unlocked the door and kicked through the shavings, enjoying the sharp, sweet aroma of pine. "Oscar?"
"I'm right here, boy." I swiveled around just as he dumped a scoop of grain into Pancho's bin. "How was your trip?"
Before I could answer, Pancho thudded into the stall, ignored me, and headed straight for the grain. "Hey, boy!" I handed Oscar the kitten and wrapped my arm around Pancho's neck for a hug. Glancing back at Oscar, I smiled. "Onset was great."
The kitten climbed up onto his shoulders and rubbed his face against Oscar's cheek. He crooked one finger and scratched beneath the kitten's chin. "I see you got some sun. You're brown as a berry."
"Yeah." I patted Pancho's shoulder briskly. "Was Pancho a good boy? Did he give you any trouble?"
"Oh, my, no. He's always a good fellow. He might have been a little lonely for you, though. He kept looking over the fence as if he expected you to come in the driveway any moment, don't-you-know?"
I laughed and hugged him again. "Oh, poor Pancho. I tried to tell you I'd be back in a week."
Oscar's blue eyes twinkled. "I don't think he understands English, my boy."
I stroked the velvety soft down on Pancho's muzzle. "Sometimes he does. He knows ‘trot,' ‘canter,' ‘whoa,' and ‘let's go home.' Don't ya, boy?"
"Quite right. Let's just say his vocabulary might be somewhat limited, particularly when it comes to travel plans." A smile twitched around his lips and then quickly faded. "But I have something else to ask you about. Can we talk for a minute, son?"
"Sure." I followed him out of the stall and pointed to two bales of hay near the cats' dishes. "We can talk over there." I sat down cross-legged, and when Momma Kitty jumped up, the black and tiger kittens clawed their way up onto me as well, making a nest between my legs. Butterscotch had fallen asleep in Oscar's hands. He shifted the limp kitten to the crook of his elbow and sat beside me.
Oscar watched me for a few minutes without speaking. "I've been chatting with Mr. Marggrander." His words didn't sound harsh or judgmental, but his eyes bored into mine, as if he were so interested in what he was about to say he could barely contain himself.
My good humor quickly faded. "Oh, drat. Are you going to tell my parents?"
Oscar looked toward the house. "I hadn't planned on it. But Mr. Marggrander might. Be prepared."
Heat rose to my cheeks and my voice grew higher. "We didn't steal that stuff. Mr. Tully said it was okay!"
"Shh. I understand. I'm not interested in giving you a slap on the wrist. I'm interested in what you found."
I looked up with surprise. My fear melted. "Oh." It finally dawned on me. Of course! Oscar was the town historian. He'd be fascinated by our discoveries. "Mr. Marggrander doesn't know the whole story. I'll have to tell you what happened."
He settled back against the wall, but his eyes still sparked with interest. "Talk to me, boy."
Against the chorus of four cats purring, I went through it all. I told him the story of Mr. Tully and his sister, Mrs. Brown, of Penni and her antics, and of our exploration of the old Tully homestead, my nighttime rescue of Tully, my grandfather's doctoring and subsequent death from the Genesee Valley fever, Mr. Roberts' friendship with Tully and my grandfather, the amethyst ring, my mother's weird reaction to the whole thing, and finally our minor discoveries in Onset about Mrs. Tully's comments regarding the European trip. I especially took care to relay the details of the diaries. Oscar's eyebrows rose when I mentioned the ghost, but he didn't react any further. He asked a number of clarifying questions, settling back with eyes closed. His fingers formed a teepee on his lap, and they tapped against each other every so often.
My legs started to go numb beneath Momma Kitty and her two babies, and I squirmed on the hay bale. "I could show you the diary. It's upstairs. Maybe you could come in to see my folks, then come up to say goodbye to me? You can take it. I know Tully wouldn't mind."
His eyes snapped open. "Excellent idea."
The whole time I was spilling the story, talking faster than I'd ever done before, he didn't judge or offer opinions. He watched me with what almost seemed a renewed sense of respect. I still had a thousand questions to ask him about my grandfather and Tully, but before I could begin to ask them, my mother's voice called us inside. I lowered the cats to the floor, and then stood up and stomped to get rid of the pins and needles in my feet and legs. It felt good to talk about all that had happened, but I still felt awful keeping it from my parents.
"Come on. We'd better go inside before they send out a search party."
Oscar gently placed Butterscotch on the floor with his brother and sister, unzipping the brown canvas jump suit he wore when he helped with our barn chores. He stepped out of it and hung it on a hook by the door, revealing a tidy white shirt and chinos beneath. "I'll leave it here for the next time you need me
to feed the critters. Too bad I can't step out of the odor. I'm afraid I'll still smell like the stalls."
I chuckled. "They're used to that. Anyway, it's a good smell."
His eyebrows rose as if he doubted my wisdom, but he slung an arm over my shoulder while we walked inside. Shadow had finally settled down and joined us at the kitchen door.
"My goodness! I thought you two had walked to California and back." My mother ruffled my hair and pulled me to her in a hug. She leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Now go upstairs and unpack, and then get washed up for dinner."
I scurried upstairs while Oscar exchanged news with my parents, and within ten minutes, good to his word, he showed up in my bedroom. Without wasting words, he hurried to my side. "Where is it?"
I reached beneath my mattress and pulled out the journal I'd separated from those in the backpack. "Here it is. Read through March and April."
He thumbed through a few pages, and then tucked the book into the waistband of his chinos, pulling his shirt out to cover it. "I'll likely be up all night reading this. Thank-you, young man." With a cavalier wave of his hand, he squared his shoulders and swiped back his long pale blond hair, then turned to leave. I heard the screen door close shortly afterwards, and watched as his old sedan bumped down the driveway. I didn't know I'd see him again in less than twelve hours.
Chapter Forty-one
The next morning, Pancho was saddled and ready to go by seven-thirty. The twins were given another long list of chores when they returned home, and said they wouldn't be free until later in the afternoon. I couldn't wait to see Tully, so I gulped down some Cheerios and ran outside as soon as my parents would let me go.
The morning had dawned cool and foggy, casting an eerie mood over the rolling hills and dense woods. Pancho cantered easily up Sullivan Hill, where cherry trees loomed out of the rolling mist like goblins' spidery arms reaching for the unholy. I couldn't help but think of Jack the Ripper haunting cobblestoned streets of London. Wrapping my legs tighter around Pancho's warm sides, I leaned closer to soak up his heat and urged him to go faster. Few cars were on the road and even the birds were silent. I had almost reached the Ambuscade when a group of wild turkeys burst out of the fog and scattered across the road in front of Pancho. He shied sideways and I slipped to the left with one knee crooked over his back. "Pancho, geez!" I pulled myself onto his back with his mane, and chastised him some more. "Were you trying to kill me?"
A voice came out of the fog, scaring me more than the turkeys.
"That could have been a nasty fall, don't-you-know?" Oscar walked toward me out of the mist. He wore a green canvas hat and matching jacket, and his Leica camera around his neck. Tall and slim, for some strange reason he reminded me of an Australian cowboy. He came close and looked up at me with eyes that spoke volumes. "I was hoping you'd show up here."
"You scared me to death," I said. My heart still drummed fast beneath my heaving ribs.
"Are you on your way to Zak Tully's place?"
I nodded. "Yeah. And then I was going to the homestead, to look some more for his grandfather's papers."
"I thought as much." His face lit up with anticipation. "Mind if I tag along? I'd like to see Mr. Tully again, anyway. We haven't run into each other in many years."
I wondered why Oscar hadn't ratted on me. Most adults, whatever the reason, would have told my parents that I'd disobeyed them by seeing Tully. The only reason could be the excited, wild look in his eyes that had to do with rediscovering history. I already knew the answer, but asked, anyway. "Did you read the journal?"
"I was up until midnight. I read the whole thing, just in case there were more clues past April."
"Were there?"
"Nothing of consequence. But I'm convinced that we might find more at the old homestead. If you and Mr. Tully don't mind me joining in the search."
I couldn't hold it in much longer. The words poured out in a jumble. "Why didn't you tell my folks?"
His complexion grayed, matching the fog that refused to lift. "I suppose I should have."
"No! It's okay. I just wondered—"
"I was conflicted, young man. I'm not ashamed to admit that my passion for uncovering the truth might have blinded my responsibilities to your parents. Besides, Millie has a high regard for Mr. Tully, and the reason your mother dislikes him is rather unjust."
"Yeah. Just because my grandfather saved him. It isn't fair. And she likes Mrs. Brown." I scratched my head and frowned. "It's just nuts."
His eyes shifted down. "Er. Right. It's tough to understand."
"Oscar?"
The guarded expression on his face made me probe further.
"Yes?"
"Is that the only reason she doesn't like Tully?"
He didn't answer and fiddled with the string that held his hat in place.
"Did something else happen?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes, ever so slightly. "I suppose she'll tell you some day, son. It's not really my place. But right now let's see if we can find Mr. Tully's cabin in all this fog." He turned and headed for the monument, talking quickly so I couldn't ask any more questions. "In spite of the low light, I've successfully photographed all sides of the monument to refresh my memory of the details of that horrible day. And I reread the details on the placards over there." He pointed to the signs where maps and history were detailed beneath Plexiglas. "It's quite clear there are no mentions of Penni or her brother. Unless he happens to be one of the Indians inscribed here. That could be the case."
Pancho followed Oscar like a pony at a riding ring. He lowered his head and plodded after him, stopping when Oscar did and moving when he walked forward.
"The trail's over there," I pointed toward a cloud of fog. "Somewhere."
"Well, then. Let's go find it. Would you do the honors and lead the way?"
I picked up the reins and clucked to my gelding; he reluctantly moved ahead. "It should be next to a wicked tall pine tree." We moved further into the mist. After a few moments of disorientation, I found it, and we followed the trail infiltrated with low-lying smoke from Tully's woodstove.
Chapter Forty-two
After I tied Pancho to the bush, we approached Tully's cabin. Light shone from the windows, and the sound of a conversation filtered outside. Tully sounded happy, and I hoped my news about my lack of discoveries in Onset wouldn't bring him down. The smoke rose in thick, lazy tendrils, and then fell beneath the fog to hover over the earth in a low-lying blanket swirling around our ankles. I rapped on the door.
When it opened, Tully's delighted expression quickly soured. He looked Oscar up and down. "What's going on?"
I pushed my way in, took Tully's arm in mine, and turned to face Oscar. "Zachariah Tully, I want you to meet Oscar Stone. He's a close family friend and he's here to help us."
Tully hesitantly reached his hand toward Oscar, who took it and pumped it hard. "Zachariah. I don't know if you remember me. I married Millie, your high school friend. She thinks the world of you. I hope it's not an inconvenience that I accompanied young Gus today."
Tully's expression softened. "You married Millie?"
Oscar brightened. "I did. And I've been the happiest man on earth since our wedding day."
Tully motioned him inside. "Please. Have a seat. Millie was my best friend in high school, you know. She was one of the few people who—who understood me."
Oscar untied his hat and sat in the armchair. Tully and I sat on the sofa.
"She always spoke very highly of you, Zak. May I call you that?"
Tully tipped his head. "Of course. That's what Millie called me." He glanced sideways at me and squeezed my hand, as if suddenly remembering I was there. "So how did you fare in Onset? Did you find the papers?"
"No. We couldn't find a thing. Except some more of your mother's diaries."
He looked startled. "Oh? I thought we'd brought all of those back to the house. By golly, I'll have to tell Eudora to collect them and bring them home."
"I hop
e it's okay I read them?"
Tully smiled at me. "Of course, boy. You're not ‘just anyone.' You're Marlowe's flesh and blood."
I wanted to ask him about the reference to the illness his mother worried about, but something told me it wasn't the right time. I'd have to wait until we were alone. I didn't know if it was my imagination or not, but he looked a kind of pale and pasty today.
Oscar's patience seemed to have run out. He sat up and abruptly. "Zak, we were wondering if we might search your homestead for the papers of interest? Gus shared the story with me, and I've read the entries in your mother's diary that refer to the secrets about the Indian girl and her brother. I do hope that's okay?"
Tully gave him a slow nod. "It's okay."
Oscar spoke rapidly. "I'm the town historian, and it would mean the world to me to find something of such great significance. I promise I wouldn't consider sharing any of it without your approval. And if you'd like, we could keep the location quiet, to lessen your visitors."
Tully seemed distracted. He looked to his left, high in the air. "Okay, okay. I'll do it." He turned back to me. "I suppose Gus told you about Penni?"
Oscar nodded, as if he had been referring to a neighbor down the trail. "He did."
Tully stood. "Well, my Penni says to trust you, Oscar. And over the years, I've found her to be a helluva judge of character."
Oscar quickly rose and put on his hat. "Excellent! Please tell Penni I'm glad she approves. Now, shall we go?"
Tully laughed. "By jingles, you are anxious, aren't you? Mind if I finish my breakfast first? Matter of fact, I'd be happy to make you both some toast, if you're hungry."
Oscar and I both declined. Tully picked up his toast from a plate beside him.
"Mr. Tully? How did you make toast without a toaster?"
Before he could answer, a metal grated contraption with a long handle swung back and forth on the wall.
Don't Let the Wind Catch You Page 15
