I ducked, swallowing a scream.
My head spun like an earthquake was rocking everything around me, but I knew I had to get off the bridge. I took off again in a panic, trying to jump the last few crossties two at a time. That turned out to be a mistake, though, because my foot slipped out from under me and I fell forward, landing facedown near the edge of the bridge. With my heart thundering in my chest, I lay there still as a stone, staring at the water below me.
Finally, after convincing myself the gunshot had come from way out in the woods and hadn’t been aimed at me, I got up on my knees and crawled the rest of the way off the bridge.
I’d never been out this far before, but I knew two things for certain: A wooded lane led to the cabin on Old Man Hinshaw’s property, and the lane wasn’t far from the railroad bridge. I knew this because Daddy had pointed it out to Uncle Russell that day they’d helped Old Man Hinshaw with his car. “That’s the lane that leads back to his cabin,” he’d said. “It runs by the railroad bridge.”
It’d only been March, but it seemed like years ago when I’d been on that car trip with Uncle Russell and Daddy. I wondered if Daddy had any idea back then of the trouble he’d be in now. I wondered if he knew Uncle Warren and him would be running from the law, maybe even hiding out in the cabin. If Daddy had any inkling of what was to happen, he sure hadn’t let on to me or Uncle Russell that day.
I found the lane right away. It wasn’t much of a road, just a rocky pathway that wound through the woods and over a couple of hills. I followed it all the way to where it ended next to a giant pile of rubble, and that’s when I saw Old Man Hinshaw’s cabin.
I ducked behind a tree, holding my breath as I stared at it. The cabin sat in a small clearing, surrounded by a rusted barbed wire fence. Half the front porch had rotted away, the back part of its patchy tar paper roof was caved in, and even from where I stood, the two tiny front windows looked grimier than Fuzzy’s Tavern floor. A lopsided sign in the front yard said: WARNING! THIS IS HINSHAW PRIVAT PROPERTY. TRESPASSORS WILL BE SHOT!
Could Daddy and Uncle Warren really be hiding out in that old shack? I didn’t see any sign of them. Maybe they hadn’t come here after all. Maybe I’d been wrong. Or what if they’d been here and left already? Should I check inside the cabin? Old Man Hinshaw’s sign sure didn’t sound like any joke. Suppose he caught me?
The stillness surrounding the shack made my skin crawl. I thought about Tommy on the other side of the bridge, waiting for me. I wished he would’ve come along.
A noise—like something rustling in the bushes—sent me to my knees. I peered around the trunk again, eyeing the cabin. I didn’t see anything. It must be my imagination, I decided. I stood back up. I had to keep looking. I had to find out if Daddy was inside. I didn’t want to yell for him, though; I worried Old Man Hinshaw might hear me.
I inched my way toward the barbed wire fence. Oh no! The gate was locked. How would I get over it? Just last summer I’d torn my leg climbing barbed wire at Grandpa’s farm and had ended up with stitches. I looked at the scar on my calf and got cold chills, remembering how much it had hurt.
I was shaking too hard; I’d never make it over. Instead, I pushed one of the middle wires down as far as it would go and slowly, carefully started squeezing through it, praying the wire wouldn’t snap out of my sweaty hands and gash my other leg open. I had one foot on each side of the fence when I felt a tug on my blouse—it’d gotten caught on a barb. I couldn’t free it because both my hands were holding the wire down. As I swung my other leg through and pulled away from the fence, I felt my blouse rip at the shoulder. Shoot. I’d have to remember to hide it from Mama, maybe stuff it in the garbage when I got home.
I picked my way through the overgrown weeds and headed toward the cabin’s porch. The closer I got, the faster my pulse raced. If Daddy was there, how come he hadn’t called to me? More than anything I wanted him to fling the door open, grab me in his arms, and say, “Billie! I’ve made a bad mistake. Warren and me are taking this money back right now and turning ourselves in to the law.”
The only thing that greeted me, though, was an uneasy silence. I tapped on the door. No answer. I pushed, and to my surprise, it creaked open.
“Hello?” I whispered. I took a tiny step inside. “Daddy? Are you in here? Is anybody here?”
Light from the open door spilled into the cabin, casting my shadow across the room. I looked around. An inch of dust topped every piece of broken-down furniture in there. The hot, stale air nearly suffocated me; it felt like a hundred degrees. I sneezed, then jumped back when I saw a deer’s head hanging crooked on the wall. It stared right through me with sad, lifeless eyes. I was just about to tear away and climb back through the fence when I noticed something else. Something that stopped me cold. Something that gave it all away.
I knew he’d been there, because I smelled it, the faint scent of Daddy’s aftershave lotion. I couldn’t leave now. What if he was huddled somewhere in the cabin, injured? Or even dead? I ventured farther inside and saw two cots pushed up against a wall in the corner, a pile of threadbare sheets tossed over them. A long white envelope on an end table caught my eye. Was it a note from Daddy? I picked it up, my hands trembling, and a wad of bills fell to the floor—more money than I’d ever seen in my life.
I couldn’t quit staring at the bills. The money was from the bank robbery. It had to be. But why was it here? Had Daddy and Uncle Warren forgotten it, or had they left it on purpose? It doesn’t make any difference, I thought, dropping to the floor. I have to take it. Otherwise, Old Man Hinshaw may find it. He might turn it over to the cops and tip them off about Daddy.
I snatched all the loose bills, stuffing them and the envelope into my pocket.
I started for the front door before hesitating. Maybe I should check out the second room of the cabin. It couldn’t hurt anything. I might find some information about where Daddy and Uncle Warren had gone.
I tiptoed back across the creaky floor. Halfway there I heard a loud thump, like someone had bumped hard against something. My stomach nearly came up my throat. Was someone outside the cabin? I stopped and waited, holding my breath. I didn’t hear anything else, so I forced myself to keep going, one tiny step at a time. When I got to the open doorway, a rubbery black spider swung through the air and dropped onto my arm. I shrieked, flinging it away, then lunged into a dingy little kitchen.
I looked around for signs of Daddy, but all I saw were a sink piled with dirty dishes and rotten food, a grimy old stove in the corner, and a refrigerator with its door hanging loose from the hinges. I moved toward the sink, thinking I’d check out the cabinet over it. As I reached for the knob, the front door of the cabin slammed open like a cyclone had blown against it.
“Hey, you! Trespasser!” came a man’s shout from the other room. “Git out from wherever you are, or I’ll shoot your durn head off!”
Chapter 14
I cowered against the wall, searching wildly for somewhere—anywhere—to escape. The back door? Just when I started to run for it, the clump, clump, clump of heavy footsteps came my way. My knees locked. I felt paralyzed, like my feet were buried in wet cement. It was too late to hide now; he was right outside the kitchen.
With my eyes squeezed shut, I flattened myself against the wall and prepared for the gun blast. Instead, all I heard was the hissing of someone’s breath, not a heartbeat away from my face.
“What in tarnation!” Old Man Hinshaw yelled.
My eyes flew open. He was standing over me, so close I could see up his hairy nostrils. His stale whiskey breath nearly knocked me to the ground.
“It ain’t nothing but a dag-blasted young’un. What you doin’ on this here private property, girl?” He stepped back, glaring at me over the barrel of a long shotgun. The only answer that came out of my mouth was a squeak.
Old Man Hinshaw wiped a greasy mat of hair out of his face and lowered his gun. I stared, openmouthed, into his bloodshot eyes.
“Answer me, girl!
Answer me quick, before I git fired up. I ain’t takin’ kindly to no trespassers out here.”
“I ain’t a trespasser! I swear it. I’m—I’m lost, that’s all. I can’t find my way back to the bridge.”
Old Man Hinshaw’s lips stretched into a sly grin, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth. “Lost, eh? Sure you’re not lookin’ for someone?”
I shook my head, praying he wouldn’t recognize me from that day in March.
“Speak up, girl! I asked if you was lookin’ for someone.”
“No sir.”
“I might take your word for it, girl.” He wiped a shirt sleeve across his runny nose. Then he looked over his shoulder and started mumbling real low, like he was talking to himself. “Ain’t got time to worry with young’uns now. Gotta find those double-crossin’ varmints, gonna git what’s owed me. Okay, girl,” he said aloud to me, “You git on out of here, now, and don’t you come back. You got that?”
“I won’t come back,” I said, my voice cracking, “I promise.” I edged backward, my eyes fixed on his gun. I bumped against the door and grabbed the knob, working it open, then tore away from the cabin and across the yard, sailing over the barbed wire fence like a high jumper. I raced back through the woods, my pulse pounding in my ears. Once I made it to the reservoir, my legs turned to Jell-O. I dropped onto my hands and knees and crawled all the way back over the railroad bridge.
I found Tommy sitting alongside the tracks, sorting through a pile of rocks. “Run!” I yelled. “Old Man Hinshaw’s got a shotgun!”
We shot down the tracks faster than rabbits, not stopping even once to rest, until we’d made it all the way to the glass factory. By now my hair was soaked with sweat, and my blouse clung to my sticky back.
“Slow down,” Tommy finally said, gasping for breath. “My ankle hurts.”
I checked to make sure we weren’t being followed, then dropped to the ground. Tommy plopped down beside me. He started badgering me with questions right away.
“What happened? Did you see our dads? Did my dad ask where I was? Did Old Man Hinshaw chase you?”
All I could do was sputter and fumble for words, nodding “yes” or “no” like a marionette. The picture of Old Man Hinshaw’s dirty, sneering face—of his long shotgun aimed at me—kept popping up in my mind. I stuck my hand in my pocket, curling my fingers around the thick wad of bills, remembering his words: “Gotta find those double-crossin’ varmints; gonna git what’s owed me.”
All of a sudden it came to me what Old Man Hinshaw had been talking about. The money. Suppose the money in my pocket was Daddy’s payoff to him? And then I felt the blood drain right out of my face. If that was true, I hadn’t helped Daddy one bit by taking it. I’d only gotten him into more trouble with crazy Old Man Hinshaw.
The bills burned my fingers like hot ashes. I couldn’t wait another second to tell Tommy.
“You won’t believe what—”
“Hey! Over here,” someone shouted.
“Oh, man. It’s Goble and the twins,” Tommy whispered. “We’d better get out of here quick.”
We scrambled into the ditch that ran alongside the tracks. “Make sure to keep your head down,” I warned Tommy. There’d be trouble, for sure, if Goble saw us. He’d probably beat up both of us, maybe even find the money on me.
We headed toward town again, but it was hard to stay hidden in the ditch. Luckily Tommy spotted a narrow, weedy path leading away from the tracks. “Look,” he said. “That’s the shortcut to the ball diamond. Let’s take it.”
Still running, we followed the trail all the way to the Myron Park baseball field. By now my legs ached so bad I could barely keep going. I ran my tongue around my dry, cracked lips. I was so thirsty I could’ve drunk a gallon of water straight from the toilet at Fuzzy’s Tavern.
The pathway opened into a playground beside the ball diamond, right next to a drinking fountain. Tommy got first dibs on the fountain, and I paced back and forth, fingering the bills in my pocket while he lapped up a gallon of warm water. I could hardly wait to tell him about the money. I grabbed a bundle of it, getting ready to pull it out and flash it under his nose. But out of the blue here came my little sister, Carla, dragging one of her old dolls by its ponytail across the dusty ground. She had a half-eaten Fudgsicle in her other hand and was yelling at us to wait up.
“Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! Lookee here at what I got,” she sang when she caught up to us. She waved the Fudgsicle in our faces like it was a magic wand.
My mouth watered. I couldn’t take my eyes off the smooth frozen chocolate. “Where’d you get that?”
Carla snatched it away when I reached for it. “Daddy Joe bought it for me, but you can’t have one, ’cause you guys were bad and run off from the church.” She pranced around us, twirling the Fudgsicle in her mouth while blobs of chocolate dribbled down her chin and onto her blouse. “Besides, Daddy Joe’s fresh out of money. He told me so.”
“Dang,” Tommy said. “I wish we had some money.”
My hand twitched in my pocket. I had money. Lots of it. And no one knew anything about it but me. I fingered the bills; they felt slick and cool. My cheeks tingled with the thought of how rich I was. What would it hurt if I bought a couple of Fudgsicles? Why should I care? I had enough money to buy us each ten Fudgsicles if I wanted to. In fact, I could’ve bought a Fudgsicle for everyone in Myron, Indiana—maybe even the whole state of Indiana. I inched up to the concession stand.
Wait a minute, though. The money wasn’t mine. If I spent it, then Daddy wouldn’t be able to give it back to the bank.
“You want something, hon?” the lady behind the counter said. Tommy and Carla stood a few feet away from me, watching.
“I didn’t know you had money,” Tommy said. “Get me a Fudgsicle.”
“I want a cherry Popsicle, Billie!” Carla yelled.
The smells from the concession stand tickled my nose, making me dizzy with hunger. I could already feel that creamy, cold chocolate in my mouth. Maybe I’d get us all a hot dog, too, with mustard and pickle relish. And a root beer, because I was still thirsty. It felt so strange having all that money, like I could do anything I wanted. I wondered if Daddy felt the same way. He must have, because he had tons more money than I did. I wondered, too, if he felt real sorry about stealing it.
The lady rapped her fingers on the counter.
“Um…” I fidgeted, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, my hand still squeezing the bundle of bills. For a moment nothing seemed real, not even the money. It felt like I was watching myself from the top row of the bleachers, not knowing what I planned to do next. I hemmed and hawed again, looking over my shoulder at Tommy and Carla. What would they think if they knew I was about to spend stolen money? Would they still want the treats? Carla probably would, because she was too young to understand. What about Tommy, though? What would he think? Or Ernestine?
Or Mama?
By now I had two people in line behind me.
“You made up your mind yet?” the lady said.
My heart fluttered. What if I just spent a little of it—maybe fifty cents? That shouldn’t cause Daddy any problems. I opened my mouth to tell her everything I wanted, but I couldn’t force a word out. I couldn’t even say “Fudgsicle,” even though I wanted one so bad I could taste it. I backed away, my breath shooting out in quick spurts.
“I’m not getting anything,” I said. “I’m just looking.”
All of a sudden the money felt like a nest of spiders in my pocket. I had to get rid of it, do something with it. But what? If I turned it in to Bud Castor, he’d want to know where I found it. I could take it back to Old Man Hinshaw’s, but I didn’t know if I could talk Tommy into going with me again. I knew one thing for sure, though: If I kept the money, then I’d be just like Daddy—a thief.
I walked back to where Carla and Tommy were standing.
“How come you didn’t get us a Fudgsicle?” Tommy said. “I thought you had money.”
Carla licked
the last of the chocolate off her fingers and wiped her hands all over her shorts. “Yeah, how come, Billie? You was supposed to get me a cherry Popsicle.”
“You don’t need any cherry Popsicle now,” I scolded her. “You just had a treat.” I turned to Tommy and whispered, “Let’s go. I’ve got to tell you something.”
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t going nowhere.” Carla wagged the stub of her Fudgsicle at me and shook her head. “Daddy Joe’s looking for you, ’cause Mama’s real mad.”
“He can look all he wants. I don’t care.”
Tommy and I hadn’t gone five steps before Daddy Joe waved us down.
Chapter 15
“Aw, man. Ada Jane must’ve ratted on us for leaving the church,” Tommy said. “I told you. I told you we shouldn’t do it.”
“Just don’t say anything,” I whispered. “Don’t say where we’ve been.”
Sweat rolled down my back as Daddy Joe caught up to us. He took his sweet time, too. Each step he took seemed like an eternity, like he was trying to torture me with worry about what he wanted.
“Your mom’s been looking for you everywhere, Billie,” he said. “Something to do with leaving the church before you were supposed to. She thought you might be out here at the ball diamond.”
“The only reason we left was because Ada Jane wouldn’t quit bossing us around,” I said. “We’re going back, though. Right now. Aren’t we, Tommy?”
“Uh, yeah. We’re going right back,” he said, avoiding Daddy Joe’s eyes.
I dug the toe of my shoe in the sand, hoping Daddy Joe would say okay and leave us be. He cleared his throat. The silence between us grew wider than a glacier.
When I finally looked up at him, I couldn’t tell what was running through his mind. Maybe he was just curious about Tommy’s ripped T-shirt and my torn blouse and all of our scratches and bruises, but it seemed like the flicker of a grin played around his lips. He looked away and coughed, then turned back to me, real serious.
“Your mom’s at the diner. She wants to see you. You two run on home now and wash up before you go over there. Better put some ointment over those scratches, too. Some of them look pretty deep.”
Tracking Daddy Down Page 7
