Don't Let the Wind Catch You

by Aaron Paul Lazar

I endured being poked and prodded by a young doctor, who quickly dismissed me as "just fine." Oscar had retreated into his own world, reading and rereading the paper. I turned on my side, away from him, to try to relax. Visions of the morning raced through my mind, including Penni's insistence that I hurry to help Tully and Oscar. I tried to picture her face again, but it wavered and faded before my mind's eye, and before long—smack in the middle of the day in a brightly lit room—I fell sound asleep.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  When I woke, Millie was sitting beside Oscar, smoothing his long silky hair back with her hands. "You do get yourself into some scrapes, my dear."

  He chuckled and motioned to me. "Looks like someone's awake."

  Millie turned and smiled. "There's our hero."

  I squirmed under the attention. "Anybody would have done what I did."

  She slowly stood and massaged her lower back, approaching my bed. For the first time, I noticed a change in her face, as if the pain she'd been experiencing over the past few months had left its mark: a deepening of the wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, and darkened circles under her gentle hazel eyes. I lay back against the starched pillowcases and let her take both my hands in hers. "My dear, it's not what could have happened; it's what did happen. You saved my Oscar's life. You, my boy, are a hero."

  I looked at her with doubt in my eyes. "I just—"

  "Hush, now. No more talk about this. I see it embarrasses you."

  "But Oscar got Tully most of the way out. He's a hero, too."

  Oscar reached for his jacket and slipped the precious papers we'd found at Tully's homestead back into the inner pocket. "Hardly, my boy. Now, just so you don't feel abandoned, your folks are here. They're out front, filling out paperwork. They're going to take you home soon."

  I sat straight up. "They're here?"

  Millie returned to her chair next to Oscar. "Of course they're here, honey. Your dad closed the shop and picked up your mother and me on the way. Our car is still at the Ambuscade, so I had no way to get here without them, except William's bicycle." She chuckled at the image. "God bless your darlin' father."

  Pam returned with a tray. A cheese sandwich and steaming bowl of chicken soup greeted me when she removed the plastic bowl covering the tray. "Here you go, honey. And I have some cookies in the back if this isn't enough for you."

  I dug into the food, even though it wasn't very tasty. I noticed Oscar's tray on the table nearby, with the food barely touched. But the bread was soft and fresh, the soup was hot, and the simple fare filled part of the hole that gnawed inside my belly. I'd just finished the last spoonful of soup when my parents came in. My mother's face shifted between fear and pride, her eyes tearing up before she spoke a word.

  My father followed with a fistful of papers. "You're awake! How are you feeling, son?"

  My mother ran the last few steps and hugged me tight; my father reached for my hand and squeezed hard. As strong as he was, I felt his hand shake a little when he grabbed me, and saw concern in his troubled eyes.

  "I'm fine, guys. I don't even need to be here. Come on. Let's go home."

  They looked at each other, and then back at me.

  "Really. I'm fine! I hardly even breathed in any smoke."

  Pam bustled back into the room and grabbed my clothes from the cubby on the side of the room. "Here you go, dear. Get changed in the bathroom over there while I go over the instructions here with your folks."

  I obeyed quickly, relieved to get out of the hospital gowns. My clothes were still a little damp, and smelled of smoke, but I didn't care. I laced up my sneakers and hurried back to the room where Pam was shaking my parents' hands and showing them how to put the brakes on a wheelchair. "Climb aboard, big fella. And don't worry, it's just protocol. Even our healthiest young patients have to ride out in these contraptions." She motioned me into the seat and released the brakes, wheeling me toward the door. "Now, I don't want to see you in here until your next rescue, young man."

  "I'll take him out," my father said. "Oscar? We'll meet you in the discharge area, and then I'll drive you to your car."

  Oscar raised one hand. "Thank you, André, we won't be long."

  Pam ruffled my hair. "Okay. You're in good hands now, Gustave. Stay safe." She waltzed over to the Stones and began reading discharge instructions.

  With one parent flanking each side, they rolled me toward the exit. I wished I'd been alone in the hall, so I could see how fast I could get the chair to go in the shiny, wide corridors. I pictured Sig and me racing down the hallway side by side, and had a sudden pang of loneliness. I missed my friends, and needed to tell them all that had happened.

  By the time we'd dropped the Stones at their car, it was almost three. Millie got behind the wheel and slowly backed around, pulling out to the main road. I didn't know if she had a license, since Oscar had always been the one to drive her and William around town. At home, Shadow greeted me with unparalleled enthusiasm, jumping on my legs and licking my hands and face as if he couldn't believe I'd let myself get so dirty.

  My mother drew a bath for me, which she hadn't done since I was seven, and then backed out while I immersed myself in the hot, sudsy water.

  I thought of Tully, and how close it had all been. Had he always had a heart condition? Had he even known? Or was this the "sickness" his mother referred to in the diaries? Either way, I had to find a way to visit him at the hospital, or at least call to see if he was okay. I wondered if I might get a ride with Mrs. Brown. Surely she'd want to go see him once she heard of his fate.

  When the water had cooled, I got out and wrapped myself in a big towel. To my surprise, my mother was waiting in my bedroom.

  "I've laid out your pajamas, honey. The doctor ordered rest. And I'm to watch you for signs of concussion. So I want you to get in your jammies and get into bed. Just for this afternoon."

  She saw my horrified expression and smiled.

  "Jammies, Mum?"

  With a silvery laugh, she covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, sorry, honey. I meant PJs."

  "But I feel fine. I don't need to be in bed."

  "Doctor's orders, honey. And later, I'll bring up some supper." She patted the bed and Shadow jumped up. "You and Shadow can hang out and read or sleep. I'll come back soon."

  An embarrassed flush crept up my cheeks. "Um. I can get dressed in the bathroom."

  She snorted a laugh and blushed. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I forgot you're a young man now. I'll give you some privacy."

  She swished out the door and I heard her heels tapping on the steps while she returned to her domain to cook me up something special. I ran over to shut the door, and then dropped the towel and pulled on my pajamas. Outside, it rained heavily, although the thunderstorm from the morning had long since passed.

  I slid into fresh cool sheets that smelled like the outdoors, snuggled into my pillow, and although I'd opened my Hardy Boys mystery, it dropped to the floor before I'd read even a page. I slept until morning, dreaming of fire demons, flaming trees, and Penni. Her pretty face danced before my mind's eye for most of the night, and when I got up once to use the bathroom, I swore I saw her glimmering image standing over my bed.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  The next morning, my mother and I were up early. I had already awoken and devoured a stack of her buttermilk pancakes when my father joined us for breakfast at his usual time. He picked up the Democrat and Chronicle, snapped the newspaper open to the front page, and spilled some of his coffee. My mother rushed to mop it up, but before she could hurry back to the stove, she stopped and stared at the front page.

  One hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my goodness."

  I drained my second glass of orange juice and added more syrup to a fresh stack without looking up. "What is it?"

  My father flipped the paper toward me. "Take a look, son. You're on the front page."

  A grainy image from my fifth grade school picture showed me with a crooked smile. Beside my face, the caption read, "Local B
oy Saves Two Men in Fire."

  I blanched. Two men. They were about to read what really happened at the Tully homestead.

  I pulled the paper toward me. "Who the heck wrote this?" In tiny letters beneath the caption, the name Barnie Pratt appeared. "Mr. Pratt! He's the man who called for help. I rode Pancho to his house in the storm. I didn't know he was a reporter."

  My father looked proud, but my mother frowned. "Two men? I thought you just saved Oscar?" She took the paper from me and started to read.

  Here it comes. I tried to pull myself into a small ball and roll away, but it didn't work. I just sat like a lump at the table and stared at her, counting down to the explosion I was sure would come.

  She passed the paper to my father, who stood and had been trying to read over her shoulder. "Here. Read it for yourself, André. I guess we didn't get the whole story yesterday."

  There was no recrimination in her tone, but her face had waxed green and her mouth drew into a tight line over a trembling chin. She stood quickly and turned away from me with shaking shoulders.

  I started to go to her, but my father put up a warning hand while he finished reading. "Hold on, son."

  I waited. My mother walked into the kitchen and started running the water in the sink, clinking dishes together as if everything was normal. But it wasn't. She hadn't eaten her own breakfast and was re-washing dishes that weren't even dirty. Helpless, I sat and watched while my father carefully folded the paper. My eyes met his.

  "Come on, son. Let's go upstairs."

  I followed him to my bedroom and sat beside him when he patted the bed with one hand. Tears welled in my eyes. My mother had fallen apart down there, and it was my fault. I hung my head and waited to be lectured.

  "Gus?" He tilted my head up, but I was met with gentle eyes, not anger or disapproval.

  I couldn't speak.

  "Why didn't you tell us you rescued Mr. Tully? Was it an oversight, or on purpose?"

  I spilled my guts and told him everything. Everything, that is, except my experiences with Penni, and my midnight rescue of Tully in the old house. His eyes widened when I mentioned the discovery we'd made at the homestead, but he encouraged me to keep going until I simply stopped on my own accord and stared back at him with a thumping heart.

  "That's quite a tale." He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. He was going to be late to open the shop if he didn't hurry, but he never mentioned it. "I hear Mr. Tully is pretty harmless, tell you the truth."

  "What?" I couldn't believe he wasn't yelling at me.

  "But you disobeyed when you went into the woods and bothered him at his cabin. Your mother expressly told you not to pester the man. You'll have some weeding in your future. I'm thinking the whole row of carrots and all the onions would be appropriate."

  I groaned. "But he was so nice, and so lonely. And he knew Grandfather Wright."

  His shoulders slumped. "I know. But your mother has this thing about him. She's carried it with her forever. It's somewhat irrational, if you ask me, but it's very real to her."

  "What happened, Dad? What in the world could make her not like Mr. Tully?"

  He tapped his watch and suddenly stood. "That's a topic for another day, sport. I'll be late if I don't hustle."

  "Dad! Please."

  He blanched and adjusted his tie in the mirror. "I'm sorry, son. I'm just not the person who should explain this to you. Maybe when you're a bit older."

  "How old?"

  "Um. Twenty-one, I think."

  I exploded. "That's like a gazillion years from now!"

  He put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. "I know, sport. But you have to trust me. Some topics just aren't appropriate for boys your age."

  "Appropriate? Dad. Please."

  He released me. "Be sure to clean out your horse stall today. You didn't get to it yesterday."

  I nodded and swallowed my frustration. "Yes, sir. It'll be done before you get home for dinner. And I'll get to the weeding right away."

  "That's my boy."

  "Dad?"

  He stopped at the doorway and turned. "Yes?"

  "I really need to see if Mr. Tully is okay. The twins and I are great friends with him. He's lonely. He needs someone to care about him."

  "Mrs. Brown will probably tend to him, don't you think?"

  I stared at my feet.

  He came back to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll call the hospital and check on him for you. Will that help?"

  I bit my lip. "I need to see him."

  He crouched in front of me and looked deep into my eyes. "You're really fond of the old geezer, aren't you?"

  I nodded, but couldn't talk. All the fear from the past few days washed over me and threatened to break through. I wanted to be brave, but my father's empathy made it harder to hold it in.

  "I'll talk to your mother."

  With a wave, he walked at a brisk clip toward the hallway. In minutes, the Oldsmobile started up and roared out of the driveway. I wondered if he'd said much to my mother on his way out. He hadn't had a lot of time. But then, they frequently didn't need to say a word to each other to share a feeling or pass a thought back and forth. Just a glance or an expression was all it took. It was uncanny.

  I waited a whole hour before going downstairs, but by that time, my mother had buried herself in ironing and barely gave me a nod when I passed the laundry room.

  "I'll call you for lunch. Don't forget to feed the cats, too."

  I answered in a voice that felt as tight as hers sounded. "Okay."

  I'd never known my heart could break from the sound of my wounded mother's voice, and on this sweltering hot day in August, 1965, I learned firsthand how it felt to have hurt my own mother through my foolish actions. I vowed never to do it again, and headed for the barn to gather my weeding tools.

  Chapter Fifty

  At two in the afternoon, when I'd finished the carrots and had weeded halfway through the onion row, the twins cantered up from the alfalfa field behind the barn. My heart leapt when I saw them, and I ran to greet them at the edge of my father's massive garden.

  Elsbeth jumped from Golden Boy and ran to hug me. After a long tender moment, she backed up a few inches from my face, with her slender arms still slung around my neck. "Oh, Gus." Pride beamed from her eyes. "Everyone's talking about you."

  Siegfried slid to the ground, looping Frisbee's reins over one arm. "You're a local hero." When Elsbeth let me go, he gave me a half-hug and punched one arm. "I just wish we'd been with you."

  For some reason, I didn't mind my best pals calling me a hero, although it had been uncomfortable coming from adults. I knew they meant it, too, and that they would have been right beside me every step of the way if they'd been there. "Thanks."

  Elsbeth's eyes lit up. "And you found the papers, didn't you?"

  I shot her a sideways glance. "How'd you know?" That part hadn't been in the paper.

  "Mr. Stone stopped by to thank my parents for letting us help search for the very important historical records. He got my dad to smile and everything. He explained about the books we borrowed, and told my father it was a significant historical discovery that would change the history books. Matter of fact, Mr. Stone said he was going to write a book about it and even mention us three in the dedication."

  Siegfried chimed in. "Ja. I haven't seen my father so happy in a long time. He said he was proud of us, and apologized for not believing us before."

  I reached over and squeezed Sig's hand. "What a relief."

  Elsbeth motioned to the garden. "You got in trouble, huh?"

  I shrugged. "Yeah. But not too bad. My father was pretty good about it. Punished me for not listening about bothering Tully, but didn't freak out or anything like that."

  Siegfried looked toward the house, where my mother stood, hanging wash on the line. "Was she very upset?"

  A neat procession of white sheets billowed in the breeze, perhaps releasing some of the hurt she felt to the wind. I hoped so, at least.
It seemed she found some sort of comfort in working hard. Or maybe she lost herself in it. I wasn't sure.

  I swallowed hard and averted my eyes. "Yeah. She was—crying."

  Elsbeth swung her deep brown eyes in my mother's direction. "The poor thing. I just wish we knew—"

  I finished her sentence. "—what happened. I know."

  Elsbeth spotted a burr in Golden Boy's forelock and made him lower his head so she could work on it. "Did your father tell you anything? Anything at all?"

  I shook my head. "Not really. He said she'd been ‘carrying this with her' for a long time, and that it wasn't exactly rational in his viewpoint. But he'd never tell her that."

  "Carrying what with her?" Sig asked. His eyes narrowed.

  "I don't know. My father said he'd tell me when I was twenty-one. That it wasn't ‘appropriate' for a boy my age."

  Elsbeth's eyes popped. “That usually means it's something about s-e-x."

  Siegfried's head tilted to the side. "She's right."

  I let my mind wander. "Yuk. Maybe Tully had an affair with my grandmother or something."

  Elsbeth expounded on the theory. "Maybe Tully was her real father. Maybe Marlowe was just a father in name."

  I blanched at the thought. "Holy mackerel. That would be awful. It would mean my mother lived a lie her whole life. And if she was mad at Tully for being her real father, it would mean he never owned up to it or recognized her as his child."

  Siegfried's brow drew together. "That theory doesn't hold water. Tully isn't a snake. He's a decent man. And remember, he really cared about your grandfather, Gus. How could he have betrayed a man he cared for like that?"

  I flopped to the ground and splayed my legs out on the cool grass. "True. Very true."

  Elsbeth dropped beside me and let her foot fall to the side so it rested against mine. She took my hand in hers and held it there. "I wonder if you should just ask her."

  I shook my head like a dog who'd come in from a downpour. "No way. No. She'd fall apart. I have to find out from someone else."

  Siegfried leaned against Frisbee's shoulder and pulled his fingers through the piebald's mane with a steady rhythm. He gazed at the treetops in the distance, but I knew he didn't see them. "You need to find someone who was around when she was a child. Someone who lived through that era when everyone was so afraid of the Genesee Valley Fever, and who might remember what happened."