Tucker's Bride

by Lois M. Richer

  “You’ll see.”

  Tucker lugged Coach’s tool kit through the yard, passing Ginny on the way. She carried a tray with cans of soda piled on top and a plate with that cereal dessert she made—the one with butterscotch, chocolate and peanut butter topping. He licked his lips. On his way back to the tree house, he found her waiting for him.

  “Quitting kind of early, aren’t you?” She smiled as brightly as usual, but there were tired lines around her eyes. A droop of weariness sloped her shoulders.

  Tucker knew she was worn out from the runs to the city. Her father had been admitted to the cancer center for tests two days ago, and she’d been forcing herself to make the round trip every evening. Tucker had gone with her to keep her company. Last night Adrian had insisted they both take a night off.

  “We’re going over to the paper,” he told her quietly. “Since we’ve gone as far as we can go with the plane, and because the boys expressed an interest in journalism, Marty and I figured we’d see if they were interested enough to try to print their own club newspaper.”

  She looked at him admiringly. “Wow!”

  He shrugged.

  “We’ve had six new kids join, you know. They can’t all come every night to the clubhouse like the original group because some of them need rides in from their farms, but if we do the paper, we might work something out for Saturday afternoons.”

  “Can I come, too?”

  In the act of turning away, Tucker froze, then twisted back to stare at her.

  “Come? With us? To the paper?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What for?”

  “Bad idea.” She turned away. “Never mind.”

  He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

  “No, wait. I didn’t say it was a bad idea.”

  “You didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms, either.”

  If she meant something by those particular words, if she was harking back to his promise, Tucker couldn’t tell it by looking at her. She stood in front of him, slim, quiet, totally unlike the usual bouncy Ginny. Even her hair was restrained in its thick braid.

  Automatically, his gaze slipped to her feet. Sure enough, he found what he needed to reassure him that Ginny, the real Ginny, was still alive and kicking.

  She wore some kind of straps—no, maybe they were laces. They started at the sides of her feet and went back and forth across her instep. They were attached to lime-green soles. There seemed to be six straps on each side, and they crisscrossed in some kind of intricate pattern that mystified him. Above her ankle, the laces wrapped around her leg and tied in neat bows. If these were supposed to be shoes, he’d never seen anyone else wear them.

  She followed his stare.

  “Do you like them?” She lifted one leg fractionally higher so he could get a better look. “I ordered them from a catalogue. They’re an absolute pain to fasten, but once you get them on, they’re really comfortable.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tucker wasn’t going to go there. He focused on her face. “If you want to come, Gin, you’re more than welcome.”

  “Ask the boys first,” she suggested. “They may not want me tagging along.”

  Tucker turned to stare at his kids, who were happily swallowing soda as they grabbed for the delectable squares.

  “As if!” He shook his head at her. “Bribery always works with them. Especially if it’s food.”

  She grinned, shrugged.

  “We mere women do what we can,” she murmured demurely.

  He burst out laughing at her faked submissively prissy face and kept on laughing on the inside while she charmed each and every one of them into coaxing her along. Once at the newspaper building, they vied for her attention, edging each other out.

  “You guys want to know how difficult it is to make a newspaper, you’re going to find out,” Marty told them, grinning like a Cheshire cat once he’d finished the tour of the building and explanations as to their presence.

  “Yeah? How?” Tom frowned.

  “Each of you are to write a column, no more, no less than five hundred words, on any subject you want.”

  “Huh?” They stared at him in utter confusion.

  “We’re going to put out our very own newspaper, guys.” Tucker grinned, enjoying their stunned surprise. “Each of you is going to contribute something to it. If you don’t want to do a column, think of something else. But have it here Saturday morning.”

  “I don’t know how to write a stupid old column.” Tom glared at his foster father as if he’d betrayed him. “What would I write about, anyhow?”

  “Your life before you came here, your family, what you want the club to be about, things you want to do in the future. You name it. We’re open.” Marty didn’t back down from Tom’s glare. “You said it was easy. Let’s see how you handle this one little part of building a newspaper.”

  “How’re we going to pay to get the stuff printed?”

  Tucker nodded. “Good question, Nick. Any suggestions?”

  They stared at him as if he’d grown two heads.

  “Sell it.”

  Ginny’s words had them all twisting to stare at her.

  “Who’s going to buy a kids’ newspaper?” The entire group started guffawing at the very idea.

  “Well, that will depend on you. Make it interesting enough and I think lots of kids would want to see what this club of yours is about.”

  In three seconds she’d captured their imaginations, painting a picture they’d never be able to resist. Tucker watched her surreptitiously. It didn’t matter who Ginny Brown talked to, she couldn’t help encouraging them. Her beauty was stunning enough, but the essence of Ginny was her indomitable spirit. She just refused to quit.

  “Hey, that’s not bad.” Tom was grinning, his eyes sparkling with ideas. “Somebody needs to write up a report of our meeting and our plans for the next one.” He nodded as one boy raised his hand. “Okay. And we should have an explanation about our odd-job squad, you know, how we’re going to buy a motor for the plane.”

  Another boy volunteered.

  “Kent, why don’t you sketch some cartoons? You can draw way better than you can write. Nick’s good on computers. He could set up the headings and that stuff.”

  Marty thunked Tucker in the ribs.

  “Look at him,” he murmured. “The kid’s a born organizer.”

  Tucker nodded. In a matter of ten minutes, each boy had an assignment they seemed to accept far better than being told to write a column. Once more, they’d taken an idea and made it their own. Watching them change from takers to givers gave Tucker intense pleasure.

  “Hey, you got us all lined up. What’re you gonna do?” The other boys nodded, staring at Tom.

  “I think he should be the editor-in-chief.” Ginny stood straight and tall in her lace-up shoes. “He’s already doing that, anyway.”

  “Aw, I dunno.” Tom’s face turned a bright red. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

  “You’re perfect. Marty? Tucker?” Her eyes asked for support.

  Tucker caught a glimpse of rebellion on more than one face. He spoke before Marty could.

  “It’s up to them. It’s their paper.” He motioned to the other two adults. “Let’s go outside while they discuss it.”

  They climbed the stairs and stepped out the back door, surprising someone who’d been standing at a nearby window.

  “Hey, you!” Tucker sprinted after a disappearing figure, grabbed him by the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing!”

  “It’s Lane, isn’t it?” Ginny moved closer to get a better look under the street lamp. “I thought I recognized you. Let him go, Tucker. He won’t run away.”

  Reluctantly Tucker removed his hand, hoping Ginny knew what she was doing. The kid looked like a punk with his weird hair and scruffy clothing. But then, Lane probably didn’t look any worse than the other kids in the group. Tucker was just used to them.

  “I suppose you’re wondering
about the boy’s club,” she said when Lane didn’t say anything. “Do you want to join?”

  “I dunno. What kinda things do they do?” He slouched, staring at her insolently.

  “You can ask them yourself. They’ll be out soon. They’ll have to be. They have curfews.”

  He snorted with disgust at the word, but backed down when she reminded him that he had one, too. How did she come by all this information? Tucker stood and listened, amazed at her skill with kids.

  A few minutes later the boys emerged.

  “We voted to let Tom be the editor. He’s the oldest and he can spell better than the rest of us, so we figured he’d be better at it.” Nick spoke for the group. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Lane. He’s thinking about joining the group.” Ginny introduced everyone.

  “I might be interested and I might not.” Lane tugged a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt and flicked one into his mouth. He lit it with a match, which he immediately tossed away.

  “We’ve got rules. One is no smoking. We’re not allowed. It’s part of probation. Besides, John’s allergic.”

  “That so?” Lane inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke directly into John’s face.

  Tucker jerked forward, itching to rush to the weakly boy’s defense when he started coughing. Ginny grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “Watch,” she whispered.

  “You know, kid, you’ve got a problem. But then, I guess we all do.” Tom stepped in front of John, his shoulders straight, eyes keen. “That’s why we’re in this club. But when we’re in this club, we’re all equal and nobody’s a hotshot. We might have done some stupid things in the past, but we’re not aiming to repeat the experience. This is our chance to make good, and we’re going to do it together, as a group.”

  “Yeah.” The rumble of agreement rolled through the ranks as the other boys backed Tom up.

  “So you’re only letting certain people in, is that it?”

  “Nope.” Tom shook his head. “Anybody’s welcome. But we all have to follow the rules because the rules benefit everyone. You wanna join, you follow them just like the rest of us. The choice is up to you.”

  Lane flicked his cigarette out of his fingers and onto the ground, cheeks hot with embarrassment when Tom stepped forward and ground the cigarette’s burning end into the dust with his heel.

  “This Hicksville Goody Two-shoes junk isn’t for me.” Lane glared at Tom. “You’re a bunch of sissies. I wouldn’t be part of this bunch for nothing!”

  Tom shrugged.

  “Suit yourself. You’re welcome anytime, though. As long as you follow our rules.”

  “I won’t be back. So you can stuff your rules!” Lane sauntered away without looking back.

  Ginny wiggled a little, and Tucker realized with a start that she stood in the circle of his arm. Somehow one of his hands had moved around her shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed, she fit so naturally. Reluctantly he removed his hand.

  “I’m glad he’s gone. He’s mean.”

  The others began to describe the things they’d heard about Lane. Tom held up a hand.

  “Hey, look. None of us is exactly pure as the driven snow. If we can change, he can, too. Let’s give him a chance to think it over, okay?”

  “It’s time you fellows were on your way home.” Marty stepped up, smiling. “I guess you’ve got your assignments, so we’ll see you Saturday morning. 10:00 a.m.”

  “See you.”

  They hurried away into the evening. Tucker turned, surprised to see that Tom remained behind, speaking softly to Ginny. He stepped closer to listen.

  “I didn’t do it for them,” the boy explained, his face absolutely serious. “I did it for me. I needed to give somebody else a break. After all, I got one.” He glanced at Tucker and grinned. “You’re the one who showed me that it doesn’t matter where you come from, you can make something out of your life.”

  “I did?” Tucker shifted uncomfortably, glimpsing the hero worship in the boy’s eyes. “I didn’t do anything but help Marty get you guys together. Seems to me you’ve done the rest on your own.”

  Tom shook his head.

  “I got Marty to let me look up some stuff on microfiche. I know all about you carrying your friend’s body out, then going back for the other guy. And you were injured.”

  Tucker’s breath got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t say a word. The last thing he wanted was some kind of misplaced hero worship from a kid who needed a role model. But what could he do? If he told the truth, Tom would tell the boys, and then it would be all over town—the real truth of the matter.

  “That’s the kind of man I’m going to be,” Tom said, face filled with pride. “I’m going to make a difference in my world. A difference for good. I decided tonight when I saw how badly that kid wanted to belong to our group. That was me not so long ago, you know. Tough talking, mean. But inside I was shriveled up. I figured out that to do what Tucker did, you’ve got to be looking outside yourself. That’s what I’m going to do—I’m going to be a reporter, just like Tucker.”

  Tucker froze. Be like him? Please God, not that!

  “I’m glad, Tom. I think that’s a wonderful plan and I believe you’ll make a big difference.” Ginny hugged him for a minute, then let him go, grinning at his red face. “Get going now before you’re late.”

  “I’ve got to lock up. I’ll see you later, Tom.” Marty watched the boy leave, his chest puffed out in obvious pride. “At least we’ve made a dent in turning one kid around.”

  Tucker nodded, muttered something and left Marty to close up shop. He started down the sidewalk, unsurprised when Ginny fell into step beside him.

  “That was a good plan,” she congratulated him. “Now they’re pulling together. It’s easier to stand up for something when there’s more than one.”

  “Did you hear him, Gin?” Tucker agonized over the remembered words. “He wants to be like me. What a gross mistake that would be!”

  “But you’re a wonderful reporter and usually a very nice man.” She grinned. The smile drooped, then faded as she realized he was serious. “Why wouldn’t he want to emulate you?”

  “Because I’m a liar and a cheat.” There—he’d said it. “Tom thinks I’m some kind of hero, Gin. He doesn’t know the truth.”

  “So tell him.”

  She said it so simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world to admit you were a flop at life.

  “And wreck the trust and faith he’s put in me? Have it blabbed all over town?” He shook his head. “No. I can’t.”

  “Is it your reputation you’re worried about, Tuck?”

  He stopped, stared at her.

  “Of course it’s my reputation. I’ve spent a long time becoming tops in my field.”

  “And being the top—is that enough for you? Wouldn’t you give up your reputation, your job, everything, to be at peace inside yourself? What is it you’re trying so hard to prove, Tucker? And who are you trying to prove it to?”

  “What do you mean?”

  When she suddenly veered left, Tucker realized they had arrived at her house. He walked her to the door, his mind turning over what she’d said.

  “Why do you think I’m trying to prove anything?”

  “Because you refuse to accept that God loves you, that He forgives you, that He is willing to accept you just the way you are. It’s as if you’re trying to buy yourself into His good graces, to atone for your mistakes. You can’t do that any more than Lane could keep smoking and be part of the group.”

  He frowned, ready to argue.

  But Ginny opened the door and slipped inside, her muffled good-night barely discernible.

  She was wrong, of course. Dead wrong. It didn’t have to do with atoning for the past, it had to do with making sure it never happened again. And until he got that promise from God, he wasn’t going out into a world where he got his friends killed.

  Chapter Ten

  On Sunday afternoon three weeks later,
Ginny sat beside Tucker in her car, grateful that he hadn’t insisted on riding his motorbike to visit her father. She needed reassurance.

  “I’m sure we’ll find him much better.” Tucker drove smoothly, easing around traffic as they moved into the city.

  “I hope so. This is the third time he’s been in here in three weeks. I just wish they’d diagnosed the appendicitis ages ago. Surely it’s a routine thing with stomach pain?”

  “Well, nothing showed up on the tests, and his symptoms weren’t exactly routine, Gin. Besides, that combined with his history of gallbladder problems, and the spastic colon attacks he started showing at the first…” Tucker shook his head. “I guess it was just too many things all at the same time.”

  “I know. He couldn’t clearly identify the location of his pain, and that kind of threw them off, too. Still, I hope we’re done with all this doctoring now. It’s getting expensive.” She frowned at the fleeting look that washed over Tucker’s face, then disappeared. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He smiled at her. “I guess I’m just relieved that it wasn’t the cancer he feared so much. When they ruled that out, I know he felt a whole lot better.”

  “Until he had that last attack.” She closed her eyes. “That was awful.”

  “I know.” He squeezed her hand for a moment, remembering. “Perhaps that’s why he put off coming here for so long, telling you that the pain was different, that it had moved. He was afraid.”

  “If I know my father, you’re right on target.” Ginny nodded. “And that fear convinced him to do nothing for far too long. I should have insisted on bringing him in immediately. I shouldn’t have listened to him.” She touched Tucker’s arm. “I never did thank you properly for spending so much time running back and forth to visit him. I know it shortened up his days.”

  “It was the least I could do. Besides, coming to see your dad was more like consulting a wise owl than visiting someone in the hospital. He has good advice.”

  “Except when it pertains to himself.” She grimaced, pushing away the memory of the fear and worries of the past weeks. She tried to hide a yawn, but it was too much work. When she opened her eyes, Tucker was staring at her.