Minutes later, Steffi’s elderly baby-sitter joined them. Meg liked Mrs. Tate. She and Steffi had kept the conversation lively at the dinner table last night, with no help from Caleb and only a little from Meg. Already Mrs. Tate seemed like a friend, her cotton-white hair pulled back in a neat knot, her thick glasses glittering in the sun.
Mrs. Larsen sat down with them and sipped coffee while they ate their cereal. Then she returned to the stove to fry one egg flipped over the way Meg’s father liked it. Meg refused an egg, and Mrs. Tate’s was served soft-boiled in an eggcup.
“You shouldn’t wait on me, Kathy,” Mrs. Tate said, but she looked pleased.
“Once a day won’t spoil you,” Mrs. Larsen replied briskly. “You do more cooking in this house than I do, I’m sure.”
Meg enjoyed watching Mrs. Larsen move around the kitchen. She wore a flowered cotton dress today, as crisp and fresh as her uniform had been. She had a shining look, as if she were smiling, inwardly, all the time.
“Where’s Steffi?” Meg asked when she’d eaten her second piece of toast. She wondered where Caleb was, too, but she was not going to ask about him.
“She’s out in the backyard helping her big brother weed the vegetable garden,” Mrs. Larsen replied. “At least, Steffi calls it helping—that’s not what Caleb calls it. In a few minutes she’ll be in here complaining that Caleb is a mean brute who won’t let her do anything.”
Was that why Caleb was “catching it” yesterday? Meg wondered. No, that wouldn’t fit the words she had overheard. “… quit moping about something you can’t change.” What was it that Caleb couldn’t change? Meg reminded herself that it was none of her business, and she really didn’t care. She had enough to think about without worrying about him.
Still, he was a boy, and he was good-looking. She and Rhoda spent hours talking about the boys at school—how to get their attention, how to talk to them once you had it. Even if she didn’t say a word to Caleb all the time she was in Trevor—even if he didn’t look in her direction once—she knew she’d tell Rhoda about him when she wrote.
“Now, how about that ride around town before I head for the typewriter?” Mr. Korshak asked. “Since we didn’t get to it yesterday, I’ll show you the highlights this morning, Meg.”
Mrs. Larsen’s smile flashed. “If you can find any.”
“Oh, Kathy,” Mrs. Tate said reproachfully, “there’s our beautiful library, and there’s the swimming pool and the band shell and the war memorial and—well, lots of places. Trevor is a lovely town.”
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Larsen agreed. “I was teasing. You two run along and see the sights. I’d suggest that you leave by the front door,” she added, “unless you want Steffi tagging along to show you where all her kindergarten friends live.”
In the blue sedan once more, Meg leaned back and stretched. Breakfast in a boarding house had turned out to be fun, and now she was alone with her father, as she’d wanted to be.
He smiled at her expression. “How’s your mother, Meg? Do you think she’s working too hard?”
Meg didn’t know. “We fight a lot,” she said softly. “Practically all the time.”
Mr. Korshak pointed to the city library set in a neat square of lawn. It was small, but it was beautiful, as Mrs. Tate had insisted. “I don’t like to hear that,” he said. “You have to try harder, Meggie.”
“I do try,” Meg insisted. “It isn’t my fault. Not always, anyway.” She wondered if the tour of Trevor was going to be a time for scolding.
“You and your mother are so different,” Mr. Korshak said thoughtfully. “About as different as two people can be, I guess. You’re probably never going to think the same things are important, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn to get along.”
Meg wondered if that was true. Her mother didn’t think winning the role of Princess Running Deer had mattered very much. If she knew about Meg’s real dreams, she wouldn’t think they were important either.
“You’re just going to have to be tolerant,” her father went on. “Give a little.”
You didn’t! Meg felt a rush of resentment. She remembered the evening before the morning her father had left them. The last argument had been over whether he should get a steady job or concentrate on his writing. Meg’s mother had sounded shrill, even desperate, as she demanded that he find work. Neither of them had been tolerant of the other’s concerns, and it had ended with her father moving out.
“Show me the swimming pool,” Meg suggested, to change the subject. And after that they just looked at Trevor, avoiding serious conversation.
When they returned to the Larsens’ house, a half hour later, Caleb was sitting on the front steps. He stood when the Korshaks came up the walk.
“You want to go to the bait shop with me?” he asked Meg gruffly. “It’s a couple miles out of town.”
“Good idea!” Mr. Korshak exclaimed, before Meg could answer. “You go along, Meggie, and I’ll get to work.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and was up the steps before she could protest.
“You don’t have to—” she began, feeling trapped.
Caleb stretched. “Suit yourself. I’m taking the pickup.”
Reluctantly, she followed him around the side of the house. She was certain the invitation wasn’t his own idea, and she was irritated with her father for pushing her into accepting. But she had nothing else to do, and if she refused now, Caleb might not ask again. Hi, Rhoda, a letter began in her head. Caleb and I did an errand together this afternoon. We had fun.
As it turned out, she never wrote that particular letter.…
6
The highway north out of Trevor twisted like a snake between dark forest walls. Caleb drove fast and well. He didn’t speak to Meg until they rounded an especially sharp curve, and then he braked suddenly.
“Look!” His hand shot through the open window. “Deer.”
For a moment Meg saw nothing but trees. Then a delicate tan shape moved out of the brush. Caleb slowed to a stop as the doe paused to study the truck.
“Fawn, too,” Caleb whispered. A tiny spotted baby appeared behind the mother. For a moment the two people in the truck and the two wild creatures from the woods stared at each other. Then the doe led her baby out onto the highway. They crossed slowly, the mother’s eyes always on the pickup, and vanished into the trees on the other side.
Meg had been holding her breath. Now she sighed with delight. “That was just—just perfect. I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”
Caleb gunned the motor. He looked pleased. “You were lucky,” he said. “There are lots of deer around here, but I haven’t seen a fawn for a long time.”
“I’ll never forget it,” Meg assured him solemnly. She would have liked to thank him for inviting her along, but she didn’t want to embarrass him. Maybe he guessed how she felt. The silence seemed more friendly now.
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s something you can tell the kids back home,” Caleb said after another mile or two. “City kids never see anything like that.”
Meg didn’t mind the touch of smugness. “I’m going to write to my best friend, Rhoda, tonight and tell her. I wish she’d been here.”
“You can tell her about the bait shop, too,” Caleb said.
Meg opened her mouth to say she didn’t think Rhoda would find a bait shop particularly interesting—a store full of worms, for goodness’ sake?—but then the truck hurtled around still another curve, and the words died in her throat. There, in a graveled clearing, was a gigantic fish. The curved belly rested on beams, and the tail rose higher than the surrounding pines. Wooden steps led to a gaping mouth where a door was set between jagged, gleaming teeth.
It was the fish of Meg’s dream.
“Well, what do you think?” Caleb gestured at it with pride. “That’s a musky, that is. Biggest game fish in the north. Not the kind of store you expected, I bet.”
Meg cowered against the vinyl seat. “That’s the bait shop?”
Caleb swung into the parking lot and maneuvered the truck into a space just in front of a sign that said JONES’ FISHING SUPPLIES.
“The owner’s name is Ray Jones, but everybody calls him Jonah.” Caleb looked at Meg expectantly, then scowled. “It’s a joke, see? Jonah. Big fish. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“N-Nothing.” She felt sick. The great fish loomed over the truck as if it were about to attack. Meg wanted to jump out and run, but she couldn’t move. Her dream was beginning all over again, and this time she was awake.
“Come on in and look around, if you want to.” Caleb continued to watch her curiously. “All I have to do is pick up some leeches.”
“Leeches!” Meg almost choked on the word. “You’re going to buy leeches?” A monster fish with its stomach full of leeches! She’d never seen one, but she thought she’d prefer an octopus.
“Best bait there is for walleyes,” Caleb said briskly. He opened the door and jumped out. “Suit yourself whether you come in or wait here. What’s the matter, is this too corny for a big-city girl?”
“Oh, no.” He was annoyed because she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admire the unusual bait shop. But how could she tell him the truth? He’d think she was crazy if she said she’d had a bad dream about a big fish and was afraid to go inside. “It’s just this funny feeling I have,” she said weakly. “I can’t explain.”
Caleb was disgusted. “What kind of funny feeling? You mean you don’t like fish?”
“I guess … I don’t know.” Above her, the long white teeth of the make-believe musky gleamed. She stared up at them, trying to believe that the dread she’d felt in her dream had been caused by those wicked-looking fangs. But there was something else, and she knew it. She was afraid of what would happen inside.…
Caleb went up the wooden steps two at a time and disappeared through the mouth-door without a backward glance. Meg looked around her, trying to decide what to do. Maybe the bad thing was going to happen to Caleb! She’d let him go inside without a warning because she was afraid he’d think she was silly. He might be in trouble right now.
“Caleb, wait!” She jumped out of the pickup and ran up the steps to the porch that filled the front of the musky’s mouth. Nothing to be afraid of here, but beyond the door the inside of the fish was dim and shadowed. She hesitated a moment, then threw open the door and plunged inside.
“Caleb!”
“Back here.”
Not surprisingly, the interior was long and narrow. Gill-slit windows opened above racks of bright-colored fishing lures and displays of rods, reels, and bamboo poles. At the far end was a counter. Caleb was just picking up a round white carton.
Meg walked toward him, her heart pounding. She was terrified, even though the store seemed empty except for Caleb and the clerk behind the counter.
Caleb grinned at her. “Changed your mind, huh? Want to see what leeches look like?” He held out the carton.
The clerk’s hand shot across the counter. “That’ll be two dollars,” he snapped. “Cash.” He was a stocky, well-dressed boy of about seventeen. Meg looked at him in surprise and then at Caleb, whose face had turned a dull red. He reached into his pocket and slapped two dollar bills on the counter.
Meg turned toward the door. “I don’t want to see leeches,” she said. She was ready to run if Caleb insisted on opening the carton. “Come on,” she begged. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Good idea.” The clerk seemed to be agreeing with Meg, but he kept his eyes on Caleb. “I’m supposed to look after things here—and that includes keeping out troublemakers.”
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” Caleb demanded.
“It means I’m supposed to watch out for”—the clerk hesitated, as if realizing he might be going too far—“for shoplifters. Mr. Jones says I’m responsible—”
Caleb moved swiftly, and the clerk stumbled back against the wall behind him. One outstretched arm hit a rack of fishing rods and sent it crashing to the floor.
“Look at that!” the boy shouted. “If those rods are damaged, you’ll have to pay for them!” His voice was shrill. “Of course, everybody knows you have the money—”
He stopped, silenced at last by the dangerous light in Caleb’s eyes.
“Please, Caleb,” Meg begged. “Let’s go. Please!”
“Yeah, get out.” The clerk snatched up one of the rods and held it in front of him. “Take your leeches and get out!”
Caleb scooped up the carton. “You can keep the leeches,” he snarled. He ripped off the cover and turned the carton upside down. Instantly the floor was alive with black, writhing shapes. One of them landed on Meg’s sneaker. With a scream that made her throat ache, she ran out of the bait shop, clattering down the wooden steps, two at a time. When she reached the truck, she was sobbing.
Heavier footsteps sounded behind her. Caleb slid into the driver’s seat and started the motor. The truck roared out onto the highway.
Meg couldn’t stop crying. The fear she’d felt from the first moment she saw the bait shop, the strange hostility between the two boys, and finally the sight of the leeches squirming on the floor had been too much. She didn’t understand what had just happened, and she was too upset to care.
All she was sure of was that another dream had come true. Something bad had been waiting inside the giant fish.
A rustic sign appeared ahead of them: WAYSIDE REST STOP. Caleb slowed the truck and looked at his passenger. He was breathing hard.
“You want to mop up a little?” he asked gruffly. “You can’t go home looking like that. I never saw anybody get hysterical over a few leeches before. They’re no worse than night crawlers—with a sucker at one end.”
“They’re horrible,” Meg sniffed. “Besides, it wasn’t just the leeches.”
Caleb turned off the highway and parked in a patch of shade. “What, then?”
“You know.”
He leaned back. “You mean that business with the clerk?” he asked, as if the possibility had just occurred to him. “That was nothing, for pete’s sake. Just a—a misunderstanding.” He turned away to look out the window, and Meg realized he was waiting to see if she’d accept that explanation.
“What do you mean, a misunderstanding? You were mad enough to hit him! Not that I blame you,” she added hastily. “He was calling us shoplifters.”
“Me,” Caleb said. “He was calling me a shoplifter. He never saw you before.”
“Well, whatever. But you were buying the leeches, not stealing them. He acted like he wanted to make trouble.” Meg’s tears faded as she remembered the clerk’s exact words. “He was terrible!” she exclaimed. “He acted as if—as if he hated you!”
“Maybe he does.” Caleb’s smile was a little scary. “I beat him in the ski tournament last winter—he didn’t like that much. His name is Les Machen.”
“But why did he call you a shoplifter?”
The smile disappeared. Tan fists clenched the steering wheel, and for a moment Meg thought he wasn’t going to answer her question. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “Because he thinks my dad was a thief. Lots of people do.”
Meg blinked. “Do what?”
“Think my father stole.” Caleb gritted the words. “He worked at the Trevor Bank. Just before he was killed—in a car accident—a big chunk of money was taken from the bank. A lot of people in this dumb town think he took it. He and his best friend.”
“But that’s awful!” Meg exclaimed. “They shouldn’t accuse him of a crime when he’s dead and can’t prove they’re wrong.” She looked at Caleb anxiously. “What about his friend? Did he tell people it wasn’t true?”
“The friend was killed in the crash, too. That was nearly four years ago. Afterward, they found bank accounts in the friend’s name in five or six different banks around the state. The money added up to exactly half of what was stolen.” Caleb said the words fast, as if they tasted unpleasant. “The police never found the other half.”
He started up the truck and drove back onto the highway, just as a fat porcupine waddled out of the woods. Meg was grateful for the distraction. She didn’t know what to say next. Caleb’s last words—The police never found the other half—hung in the air between them.
“Well, anyway,” she said at last, “I’m sure your dad didn’t steal the money.”
Caleb slanted his eyes at her. “How would you know? You never met him.”
“I just know,” Meg said. “He wouldn’t.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” But there was something in the quiet way Caleb agreed with her that was more disturbing than anger.
“I meant it when I said I didn’t blame you for hitting that clerk,” Meg said. “That Les. I would have hit him if he’d said something mean about my father.”
“He was saying it about me, as much as about my father,” Caleb told her. “He thinks my mom and I have the rest of the money squirreled away somewhere. He thinks we’ll start spending it in a few years when everyone’s forgotten about the robbery. Half the town thinks so.”
“No!” Meg protested. “You mustn’t say that.”
“Why mustn’t I?” Caleb slowed the truck as they entered the town limits. “Hey, listen,” he went on, “don’t you say anything to my mom about what happened today.”
“I won’t.”
“You’d better not! She’s always on my case about ‘forgetting the past and looking to the future’”—he parodied his mother’s voice. “But she doesn’t have to take the kind of garbage Les Machen and his buddies dish out. Maybe her pals at the hospital and the Historical Society make cracks behind her back, but they don’t come right out and say her husband was a thief.”
Meg remembered the words she’d overheard when she arrived at the Larsens’ house:… quit moping about something you can’t change, for heaven’s sake.
“Maybe you’ll find a way to prove he was innocent,” Meg suggested. “That would be wonderful.”
“And maybe I’ll just get out of this darned town in another year,” Caleb snapped. “That’s what I really want.”
Meg felt very sorry for him. Caleb was short-tempered and blunt, but he was deeply unhappy, too. “I wish I could help,” she said. “Having people say bad things about your father must be about the worst thing in the world.”
A Ghost in the Window Page 4
