Upon arriving at the brushy bank, ClaireLee stood near a turbulent area of the water. White foam splashed against a rock, and it sprayed up and out and hit her face. She gasped and blinked, stuffing her Bible under her jacket. She shivered. It’s like a waterfall on my face.
Approaching her rock, she sat on the flattest spot. Opening her Bible, she searched for the book of Saint Matthew. When she found it, she read aloud. The crippled jay swooped in and squawked from a nearby boulder. She was glad for his company. “Hey, Mr. Jaybird.” They eyeballed each other. For a long moment, he cocked his head from side to side, and in a sudden waver, flew closer. Then, he touched the ground and limped, covering a large area. “Silly boy with your black head feathers straight in the air.”
Out loud, ClaireLee read a few verses in Matthew to the curious bird, while he watched. She finished and closed the Bible. “Okay, bird, I’ve got to go.” She leaped down and the jay flew.
As she came out of the forest, she spotted the boys and Belinda sitting on the porch. ClaireLee flagged them down with a swing of her hands. “Hey.” She hurried to them.
Returning the gesture, Belinda hollered, “There ya are.”
“What are you doing here?” ClaireLee reached the bottom step.
“Visitin’ ya.”
“I was at the river.” She faced Liam. “Is Lolly asleep?”
“Yeah. She just now konked out. You know, if Daddy realizes out you go down there—”
Impulsively, ClaireLee got within inches of his freckled face. “If he discovers you play at the pond without my supervision. . .”
Their eyes locked and he said, “Jiminy Crickets, ClaireLee.”
Satisfied he understood what she meant, ClaireLee said to Belinda, “How long can you stay?”
“My uncle’s pickin’ me up in a couple hours.” She shot her thumb at Liam. “This guy says we’re bullfrog giggin’ at your pond, but I’ll do whatever ya want.”
Thinking for a drawn out second, ClaireLee dipped her head. “Lolly should sleep for a couple of hours, so yes.”
Liam marched ahead of them and whistled through his teeth. “Let’s go then.” For a walking stick he used a wooden pole topped with shiny metal frog-gigging forks. Everyone followed.
Slinging an empty burlap sack over his shoulder, Grayson said, “Wanna learn how to frog gig, ClaireLee?”
“Remember, Grayson? I’ve done this before with rocks, so it can’t be much different.” She ruffled his thick, brown hair. “Where did you get the frog gigging pole?”
“Belinda’s letting us borrow it.” Grayson grabbed ClaireLee’s hand and swung their arms as they walked. “Last time Belinda came, she told us stories about spearing frogs with her dad.”
“Ya betcha’.” Belinda winked at him. “I’ve eaten them all my life.”
Within sight of the pond, ClaireLee opened her mouth to say fried frog legs tasted like chicken and was the best. However, bullfrogs interrupted, singing, “Burrum, burrum, burrum.”
The group drew closer, and the frogs hushed across the water. Liam stopped in the tall grass. One lone frog sang the same melody. Soon, the air vibrated again with more of the deep-throated “burrums.”
Frog music placed ClaireLee into their kingdom, and she closed her eyes and hummed. She jumped when Liam touched her elbow. He cocked his head to the left. Searching, she found the spot—two bulging eyes peeked above murky water. Liam pulled back his left arm and forced the gigger forward into the frog. He lifted his catch high and belted out a coyote howl. “Yi, yi, yiiii.”
With fists in the air, Belinda said, “Yea, Mister Liam, ya handle the pole real swell.”
“Would you get a load of these legs?” He dropped it in the gunnysack. “Daddy’ll be proud.”
ClaireLee peered inside. “He sure will.”
“My time,” Grayson said, grabbing the gigger from Liam.
Squatting at the water’s edge, ClaireLee twitched her nose. The old logger pond smelled of mud and green muck. She peered closer. Wood chips floated on the water. Logger ponds were not a place she would swim in, unlike her brothers. Soon, the warmer weather kicked off the season of sliver-plucking—her brothers’ flesh would be covered with them every time they got out of the pond.
Now, Grayson stepped closer and—with a grunt—speared a frog. Bouncing in place, he sang, “This is bigger than yours. This is bigger than yours.” He pried loose his frog and dumped it in the sack.
Frowning, Liam poked his head in the bag. “Guess you outdid me.”
ClaireLee grabbed the pole and offered it to Belinda. “Here.”
“Go on.” Belinda slapped at her own arm. “I’ve got to kill skeeters.”
“Okay, then. I’ll gig a frog just as big.” She nudged Liam. “First, show me how to use this thing.”
A wink at Grayson, and Liam might as well have said, “She’s just a girl.”
I’ll show him who can hunt.
Liam stood behind her and placed hands over hers. “Right hand here and left here.” He let go.
However, she switched her hands on the pole. “Nope, feels wrong.”
“Okay, okay. Now are you ready?”
Swatting at mosquitoes, Belinda said, “You’re a pro, little buddy.”
“When you see one,” Liam’s excited breath skimmed ClaireLee’s neck, “stand, aim for its back, and shove with all your muscles.”
“Burrum, burrum,” the frogs continued. She led their group to the sounds. The thumping of her heart vibrated in her ears.
Liam pointed, and she thrust the prongs into flesh, bones. It scared her off-balance. Splat. Her knees landed in pond scum, and her fingers sank into the mire. Belinda lifted her by the pant loops, and ClaireLee steadied her weight against the pole. “I did it. I did it.”
“Monster frog.” Grayson bounced in place. “Wait till Daddy sees this one. He’ll be happy.”
Above ClaireLee’s head, Belinda raised the pole and yelled, “Wahoo.”
“She’s a natural-born hunter.” A rare show of affection, Liam patted her shoulder.
Pleased with the attention, ClaireLee stared at him. She wiped a muddy hand on the seat of her pants and grabbed the frog. The slippery feel of its skin on her fingers tingled, and she tossed her trophy into the burlap bag. The pond doesn’t smell so bad after all.
“I gotta go.” Grayson wiggled in place. I gotta use the tree potty.”
Liam waved for him to follow. “Me too.” The boys ran behind the cattails to do their business.
As the girls watched for frogs, Belinda said, “I came for a sit-down talk.”
Avoiding her filthy knees, ClaireLee rested her arms across her legs. Now, her spine became rigid. “You mean Mama’s crying spell.”
“No.” Belinda stabbed at the soggy ground with a stick. “Ya don’t know anything about our school before those Lavender Girls showed their faces.”
ClaireLee slapped the drying mud from her hands, waiting.
Taking in a deep breath, Belinda began. “Until this year, our classes were in one large room, twenty or so of us kids, more like brothers and sisters. We were growing up together.” She threw a rock in the pond, and the murky water rippled. “A few miles from here, a rich guy decided to build himself a power plant, and he needed to blast a tunnel through a mountain as part of his plan.”
Uncertain as to why Belinda was telling her this story, ClaireLee gathered a few pebbles at her feet.
Copying her, Belinda scooped up her own stones. “The government added on another classroom and built the cafeteria, gym, and swimming pool.”
“Before, you had one teacher?” ClaireLee rolled the rocks in her hand.
“Mrs. Reed.” Belinda didn’t speak for a long moment, and her eyes narrowed. “This town had to get ready for the bosses and crew families.”
“Aha.” ClaireLee cringed. “Wendy and Kaye came and took over.”
Lifting her hand, Belinda let her pebbles drop on the rock pyramid. “They’ve got more nerve than a p
air of weasels after a bobcat.”
“I overheard Wendy telling Valerie, you were top dog here until she took your place.”
“This Wendy Lavender.” Her face puckered like a raisin, and she stood. “If I was top dog, it’s only because I’m the oldest in the school, or was.” Her eyes glowed. “You’re now top dog, ClaireLee.”
“Me?” She pointed to herself.
Belinda’s chin perked upward. “Yep.”
The idea filled ClaireLee with the sillies. She grabbed the gigger and hopped on a log. “I’m queen of the pond. Top dog of the school.” Belinda’s giggles turned into raucous laughter.
Interrupting the girls’ conversation, Liam ran from the bushes. “Ready for more gigging?”
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” ClaireLee remembered Lolly and, shrieking, she leaped from her position on the log and bolted to a trot. Hollering over her shoulder, she said, “I’m sure Lolly’s awake from her nap.” Belinda caught up and ClaireLee said, “By the way, would you stop calling me little?”
“Well, ya are dinky. ’Course, Grandma told me you’re no bigger than a button on a coat.”
ClaireLee slowed. “Your grandma is too funny. Dinky? Whoever says this?” She soft-punched Belinda’s arm. “I’m older than you, and don’t you forget it. I may be short, but right this minute, I’m going to beat you to my place.” She bent her knee and leaned her weight into one foot. “Ready. Set. Go.” Soaring with her ponytail flapping across her shoulders, ClaireLee churned out her steps. I’m going to beat Belinda Cruz. The cabin porch was within reach, and she slapped the rail ahead of Belinda and slowed on past.
Coming full circle, ClaireLee fanned her arms like a soaring hawk. A radio blasted out a hymn she knew well. “Hear our faintest cry, and He will answer by and by. . .” She said, “Lolly’s awake, and she’s messing with my radio.”
16
THE FIGHT IS ON
* * *
Lifting shoulders near to her ears, ClaireLee gritted her teeth over an arithmetic problem. She had no patience with numbers, or anything else. Since the day she and Belinda raced to the cabin from the pond, an agitation ticked-ticked inside her.
Lolly was not the one to blame for blasting ClaireLee’s radio.
Now she sighed. When will Mama act like Mama again, instead of sleeping, or causing a ruckus? Mama goes from one extreme to another.
Her hand almost rose for help with the equation, when someone slowed at her desk. Valerie’s eyes twinkled, and she moseyed over to the trash can. On her return trek, she dropped a scrap of paper near ClaireLee’s shoe. ClaireLee inched her hand down and scratched her ankle. Quick as a blink, she pinched the note between her fingers.
Intending to wait, ClaireLee placed it in her desk to read later. Before she could count to three, though, she reopened her desktop. Partway. Her fingers slid inside. She fumbled with the paper and peeked at the bold letters: REMEMBER TO KEEP MY SECRET.
She hid the message under her books.
Shattering the silence, Roger Browning’s voice behind her called out. “Mrs. Reed, ClaireLee’s reading a note inside her desk.”
Caught for sure, her shoulders froze. Mrs. Reed’s eyes seemed to ClaireLee as blank as an erased chalkboard. Whispers fluttered from grades four through six.
The teacher tapped her ruler on a book. “Quiet, please.” She eased through the aisle and stopped next to ClaireLee.
Never wanting to disappoint Mrs. Reed, ClaireLee’s face blazed with shame. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the class, ma’am.” Mrs. Reed put out her hand, and ClaireLee’s fingertips trembled inside her desk.
She gripped the paper and pulled, but it ripped apart under the weight of books. “Uh-oh.” Glancing at Mrs. Reed, a calm and patient expression met with ClaireLee’s. Handing her the two pieces, ClaireLee whispered, “I should have waited until recess, I’m sorry.”
Without uttering a word, Mrs. Reed’s palm closed over the note, and she walked to the front of the room.
Roger said near her ear, “She’s going to read it to the whole class.”
I’m doomed. ClaireLee gulped.
Holding the ripped page, Mrs. Reed said, “Note-passing is breaking one of my rules, because your minds are somewhere else instead of your work. It takes me an hour’s drive to get here and teach you each day. I expect you to listen. I want you to learn.” Leveling her eyes on the wrinkled paper, Mrs. Reed said, “Remember to keep my secret.”
Roger chuckled. ClaireLee groaned.
Students murmured. One girl said, “I wonder who wrote it.”
Will I be made to tell? ClaireLee sank deeper in her chair.
“Claire?” Mrs. Reed furrowed her brows.
“Yes, ma’am?” She stuck the end of her braid in her mouth, and then pulled it out.
“If you told me who gave this to you, would it be too painful for the student?”
“Yes, ma’am, yes.” Scooting back, ClaireLee stood. “It wasn’t written to be silly, or skip out on work. Honest.” She clamped down her teeth before she said too much.
“Class.” Mrs. Reed’s eyes moved over the expanse of faces. “Under the circumstances, I think we need to respect the writer’s privacy.” She raised a finger. “But, I will discipline these two students.”
From pure relief, ClaireLee’s eyes blurred, and she sat down.
After everyone continued their work, Roger whispered again, “You lucked out.”
She raised her chin, willing to take her punishment from gentle Mrs. Reed. However, she had a new worry. I hope the kids in class won’t pester me to tell them who wrote this.
Worst of all, though—what if Wendy and Kay prodded her with questions?
* * *
* * *
Past the playground boundary, ClaireLee sat on a decaying log. Running toward her, Belinda waved. “What are ya doing here?”
ClaireLee fixed her attention on pulling apart an old pinecone bit by bit.
Reaching, Belinda planted a hand on ClaireLee’s forehead. “No fever.” ClaireLee swatted off the gesture. Belinda said, “Why are ya all by your lonesome?”
“My stomach hurts.” She kept working at tearing apart the seeds from the cone.
“Cramps?”
“Never had those,” she said with a mumble.
Belinda touched her arm. “You were brave this morning.”
“I don’t feel brave.” ClaireLee stroked her stomach. “I feel icky.”
“Ah, c’mon, so what, Mrs. Reed read the note.” Belinda leaned closer. “She’s such a softy; she wouldn’t use the ruler on your knuckles and whatnot.”
“It just so happens, Belinda Cruz, it’s not about the punishment.”
“Well, boy, howdy,” and she snorted, “ain’t we grumpity.”
Not caring Belinda said ain’t, or mispronounced another word, ClaireLee tossed the cone.
Sitting next to ClaireLee on the log, Belinda placed hands in her lap. “Aren’t ya going to correct my English?”
“Now don’t you get me side-tracked.” A wisp of merriment creased ClaireLee’s lips. “If you must know, Mrs. Reed told me to write one hundred times on the blackboard: ‘I will not read notes in class.’”
“This isn’t bad. I wonder what the writer got for punishment.”
Clamping her lips, she didn’t want Valerie’s name to pop out like a gopher head from its hole. “I’m out here because Wendy and Kaye kept staring. I just know they’re going to ask about the note writer.”
“What about Valerie?”
ClaireLee picked at the bark on the log. “Honestly, Belinda, she’s not one of them.”
“I’ve been noticing.” She tapped her cheek in thought. “We oughta be nicer to her, don’t ya think?”
“Yeah, I do.” Balancing it on her thumb, ClaireLee flicked bark into the air.
Slinging an arm around ClaireLee’s shoulders, she said, “Wendy and Kaye better not bother you.”
No longer feeling tough and alone in this, ClaireLee played with Belind
a’s ponytail. “I’ll have to call you Lassie.”
“Huh?”
“You know—the dog Lassie on television?” She let go of Belinda’s hair. “She protects a boy from all kinds of danger.”
“We’ve never had a television.”
ClaireLee blinked twice with another glimpse into Belinda’s life.
“You just let me know if kids bug ya about the secret.” Belinda poked a thumb to her own chest. “I’ll handle them.”
She dismissed it with a wag of her hand. “I’m old enough to take care of myself, Lassie.”
“Sure, but,” Belinda heaved a sulky breath, “I hope the writer won’t try to steal my best friend.”
“Nobody could steal me from you.” ClaireLee gestured with her chin. “Here they come.”
The Lavender Girls sauntered closer, with Valerie a few steps behind. Kaye stopped in front of ClaireLee and placed her hands on her hips. “Who’s got a secret about what?”
Laughing, ClaireLee shook her head. Kaye thinks way too highly of herself. She said, “It’s not important.”
“It is to me.” Kaye scrunched her nose in a pucker.
“Knock it off, ya busybody.” Belinda jumped between them. “ClaireLee’s not a rat.”
Wendy said, “I’m sure you already know who the writer is, Belinda, and all about the secret.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Wendy snot-nose.”
ClaireLee tapped behind Belinda’s knee. “Down girl.” Belinda swung her head and stared at ClaireLee, and she sat on the log.
Eyes snapping in anger, Wendy said, “You’re such a brat, Cruz.” She twisted her heart locket at her neck. In a voice sweet as molasses, Wendy said to ClaireLee, “You’re not telling?”
“Nope.” She fanned a hand, as though to swat a pesky fly.
“Not ever?” Everyone stared at Valerie.
“Never.”
In a relaxed fashion, Valerie pointed at the Lavenders. “Don’t you girls think it’s a noble gesture?”
Mouth slacked open, Wendy rolled her eyes.
Just Claire Page 11
