“This’ll be fine, ladies. Thank you kindly,” I said.
James just took it all in, his square shoulders sagging at the thought of the research ahead.
“Now, Dibby, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but unlike our loaner books, these records are one of a kind. You may not take any of these from the library.” She stood akimbo, knuckles burrowing into her waist.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
“As much as we’d like to stay and help, we’ve a very busy, busy day ahead of us.” The women tittered for some unknown reason. “Please put everything back in the order you found it. Needless to say, be careful. Handle everything with delicate fingers. This is history that simply can not be replaced.”
“I understand.”
“Very well. Let us know if we can be of assistance, Dibby.” They turned on their sensible, flat shoes. “James.” Yvette bid adieu to him in an icy voice, polar caps practically forming on the tip of her nose. The sisters breezed out the door.
“You can close your mouth now, James,” I said. “Ain’t very becoming.”
James did as told. “Man! I thought I was gonna go ape! What’s with—”
“Hush! The sisters have great hearing.”
“Oh, sorry, yeah… But, c’mon, what’s the story there?”
I shrugged, easiest short cut to a long explanation. “They’re sisters, of course. Been librarians for longer than anyone can remember the way I hear it. Yvette’s blind, Miriam doesn’t speak. Together they got more senses than you and me and the rest of the whole dang town.”
“You mean…like, they have superpowers or something?”
“Or something. Look, you’re new here, James. You got to start looking at things a bit differently than you’re accustomed. You’ll get used to it. Everyone does.”
“I guess.” Although he looked doubtful, flummoxed. “We’re not really gonna look through all these papers, right? I mean, it’ll take forever.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I’m gonna. ‘Till I find what I’m looking for.” I pulled down the closest paper, sat down at the center table, and began poring over the yellowed newsprint. With a light touch, I turned the pages, avoided ripping them down the folding points. Like James, I began to feel the futility of it all.
James sighed, grabbed a newspaper, sat down next to me. Did a fair share of grousing, too. “Dibby, do you even know what you’re doing?”
“No. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna’ try. Shut your hole and look for anything Saunders related.”
Endless farm reports, weather forecasts, town fair events, and the occasional passing of an elderly citizen provided much of the Gazette’s keen eye for news. As much as it pained me to say so, James was right. Forever felt like a mighty long time.
“Geez Louise, Dibby, hasn’t Hangwell ever heard of microfilm?”
“Reckon not. Or maybe the Sooter sisters don’t want to change with the times. You get a lot of that in Hangwell, folks hanging on to the past.”
“Huh. This is for the birds.”
Boredom snatched the wind from his sails. He took to whipping the brittle pages harder, brisker, faster. His sighs grew louder and longer, similar to Mrs. Hopkins whenever she slapped down graded papers onto students’ desks.
“So…one of the sisters said the mayor’s name is Hopkins?” asked James.
“Yup.”
“Is he related to our teacher?”
“Yup,” I answered. “They’re married. Turn to the paper’s indicia.”
“The what?”
“Turn to the inner page of the paper.”
James did and read the minute accreditation out loud. “‘Earl L. Hopkins: Editor-in-Chief.’ Huh. The same as the mayor?”
“The very one. Mayor Hopkins is a man of many hats.”
“I’ll betcha he only prints peachy news about his mayoring.”
I folded the paper, gave him a mighty strong stare-down. Although what James had said about Mayor Hopkins had been speculated upon many an evening during Dad’s cocktail-fueled rants, Hangwell was still my town, and I didn’t cotton to a newcomer from the big city trying to cast aspersions about it.
“What? What’d I say?”
“You don’t know beans about Hangwell. Or our mayor. Don’t just assume stuff. It can whip back on you like a rattlesnake.”
“Geez, sorry I opened my yap.” James retreated back into his newspaper. “Hold the phone!” He slapped a finger onto an article. “I think I found something.”
I leaned in next to him—not too closely—and got a good whiff of his smell. Stale cigarette smoke, sweat, a bit of musk, all boy. Repellent yet attractive at the same time. I forced James out of mind, focused on the article.
Buried on page three, next to a cake recipe and an advertisement for Dad’s services, a sad and small headline read, Saunders Boy Goes Missing. At the top of the page, I noted the date as May 21, 1953.
Again, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of reporting, but the gist of the story stated that Evelyn Saunders’ eight year old son, Thomas, had run away from home. I checked the address and sure as shooting, it was the homestead next to mine. The reporter managed to nail down a quote from Sheriff Grigsby.
Sadly, several children have run away from Hangwell during my tenure as Sheriff, little Thomas Saunders being another sorrowful case. We all know the Saunders family has had a rough patch of it lately and Evelyn Saunders surely don’t need this. Not now. I won’t rest until I find Thomas Saunders and bring him home to his momma.
Mrs. Saunders had either refused to comment or the reporter had rightfully respected her privacy during her time of sadness. Either way, the story made it sound like Thomas had hightailed it away several nights before the story saw print.
I reread the story again, committing the details to memory.
“You think this was the boy you saw in the corn field?” asked James.
“Could be. Maybe not. Hard to say from that blurry ol’ photo.”
“Did he look like he was eight years old?”
“I reckon he could’ve been. But it was late, dark, I was half asleep and everything just happened so fast. Almost like a dream if—”
I shut my yap. Colors unexpectedly rippled across the closed door’s dappled glass. We had company. Whoever it was—and I suspected one of the Sooter gals—stood stock still, just listening in. I nudged James, pointed toward the door, jutted a finger up to my lips.
Already James had struck me as a boy of action more than a planner, the kind of boy who could get a girl into trouble if she didn’t take precautions. What he did next proved me a highly accurate judge of character. Fast as a jackrabbit, he made a beeline for the door. The person behind the door swam away, the rippled glass pattern settling back into dull gray. James yanked open the door. Shadows and dim light greeted us. He turned, grinned, shut the door.
When he sat back down, I lowered my voice into a whisper. “Now we have a place to start.”
“I guess.”
“I wonder what became of Evelyn Saunder’s husband? Thomas’ father. It’s funny he’s not mentioned in the article.”
“Yeah, where’s the kid’s old man?”
“Well, he’s not there now. At the Saunders’ home, I mean. Just Evelyn and her brother, Devin.”
“So, Thomas’s dad’s dead. Or divorced, maybe.” James shrugged. “Not so weird these days.”
“But…my dad never even told me Evelyn Saunders had been married, let alone had a kid.”
Disbelief widened James’ eyes. “C’mon! Parents never tell the truth.”
Actually, I thought my dad did. Prided himself on it, truthful as ol’ Honest Abe himself. Sure, I suspected Dad withheld details on occasion, the way protective parents carry on at times. Nothing unusual there. But come hell or high water, Dad always leveled with me. “It just seems weird my dad never mentioned Evelyn’s husband. Or what happened to him. Or that they had a boy gone missing.”
“Man
, get with it, Dibs. Parents lie.”
“Not my dad.” I shook my head, unable—unwilling—to believe it. But I knew, deep down in my bones, something smelled funny about the entirety of the situation next door. And I aimed to get to the truth of it. “Let’s look through the papers after the May 21st one, see if we can find out anything else. Or if they ever found the boy, dead or alive.” It sounded grim, putting words to it. But the more weight I gave the matter—and after last night’s visitation—the boy’s fate didn’t seem so unresolved to me. Seemed fair time to start calling a ghost a ghost.
On tiptoes, I reached for the next handful of papers. Discouragement packed a mighty punch. “No!”
“What’s wrong?” James joined me by the shelves.
“The library’s missing…about six months of papers after Thomas’ disappearance.”
“Huh. Weird.” James scratched his mess of hair and yawned. Pretty much done for the day, I reckoned.
“It’s more than weird,” I said. “Seems mighty convenient.”
“Well…as you said, we got a place to start.” James went back to the paper spread out on the table. He lifted the page that contained the article, flattened a hand next to it.
Horror struck me as I realized what he planned to do. “Stop! Don’t you dare!”
An innocent shrug belied his criminal intent. “Gonna take the evidence we found.” He faked a loud, cartoon sneeze (“ah-choo!”) and ripped the ancient newsprint. With a dopey grin, he folded the paper, stuck it into his jean jacket pocket. “What? What’d I do?”
“Dang it! You don’t wanna get on the Sooter sisters’ cross side, James!”
“Who, them?” He tossed is thumb toward the door. “Ah, what’re they gonna do? Hiss me to death?”
“You never been on the end of their scorn before! They’re mighty scary and a whole lot stronger than most folk give ‘em credit for.”
James’ smile faded, just a little. Then, like everything, he tossed all worry away with an arrogant chuckle. “Ah, I’m not afraid of those ol’ biddies. They can’t—”
The door cracked open. James uttered a decidedly effeminate “eek.” My stomach bounced.
The Sooter sisters stood in the doorway, small chests soldiered out, shoulders back at attention. The color drained from their faces, they looked as if someone had run over their dog, then backed over it again.
Quickly, I slapped shut the mutilated newspaper. In my trembling hands, the paper rattled like a playing card clipped to bike spokes. “Um, hello there, ladies. Gosh, where’d the time flit off to anyway? We found what we’re looking for. Thank you again for—”
“What’re you up to, Dibby?” asked Yvette. “Maybe something…untoward?”
Spoken like Vincent Price on an especially sinister day, Yvette sent the fear scurrying down my back. To steady my hands, I leaned them on a shelf and tried to clear a hole for the destroyed paper. My throat dried up, a lump the size of a golf ball wedged in tight. Finally, I managed to slip the paper into the stack, then tended to straightening the corners.
With a deep, calming breath, I turned. “No, ma’am, nothing untoward. Just researching our project. Finding items of local color and interest to—”
“How come some papers are missing?” James slouched forward, hands dug into pockets. So insolent, so stupid, so utterly different than the other boys I knew. Still, I wanted to throttle him to within an inch of his life.
As if their posture ever needed readjusting, the Sooters stood even taller, even straighter, their bodies and faces aligned in painful looking straight lines. “Why, whatever do you mean?” Yvette snapped the words out. Miriam’s ever-watchful eyes studied us.
I scooted close to James, jabbed a hopefully surreptitious elbow into his side. But the damage had already been done. “Well, after May 21, 1953,” he continued, “there’s, like, six months of missing newspapers. Just wondered how come.”
The sisters didn’t move, Yvette didn’t utter a sound. Stood still as sleeping cows. They didn’t like being challenged, I reckoned, particularly in their domain. Finally, Yvette broke the stand-off. “Is that a fact? We’ll have to look into this. Isn’t that right, Miriam?” Miriam nodded. “What, pray tell, could possibly have interested you in those missing months if I might ask?”
“Nothing, not a blessed thing,” I said. “We just noticed it, thought it a little funny since everyone knows the Sooters run a very efficient library.” One thing I’d learned over the years: playing up to adults always carries the day.
Just not today. “Clearly a mistake has been made, Dibby. As I said…we’ll look into it.”
I took Yvette’s prim delivery as a departure of sorts and frankly, I couldn’t wait to leave the suddenly dark and very claustrophobic confines of the periodical room. Through the lone window, the sun seemed to fade fast as dusk claimed its portion of the day. Shadows crawled across the sisters’ faces. Outside, trees danced and bobbed in a mighty wind that had lain dormant until now.
“Well, I’ll be,” I said, “it’s nearly supper time. Dad’ll surely have a fit if I’m not home in time.”
“As well he should.” Yvette forced it through clenched teeth.
“Thanks again for your help. Much appreciated. I reckon we’ll be on our way.”
I didn’t even wait for James. I brushed by him, bumped into his shoulder (maybe a little too forcefully) and hightailed it straight through the large main room and out into the fresh air. By the time James shuffled out the door, I’d already straddled my bike.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What’s the hurry?”
I wheeled my bike around to face him. “I happen to like visiting the library, James! Now you may’ve made it impossible for me to show my face around there again!”
“Whoa, Nellie. Hold your horses. I don’t see why you’re so jazzed up. I was just trying to help you get—”
“Into trouble?” I stood up, planted firm feet on the ground. “I don’t cotton much to trouble. Maybe you were a delinquent back in the big city, but—”
“A delinquent? Me?” Both thumbs turned toward his chest.
“Yes, you!” Out of frustration, I scrubbed the air, realized the futility of my hissy-fit. James needed Dick and Jane reader level illustrations. “In the future, don’t embarrass me or break the rules or—”
“I embarrassed you?” His eyes went a little soft around the edges.
“Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but honestly, James, just follow my lead. ‘Till you get to know the ways of our town a might better. Is that too much to ask?”
“I guess not. But…what’s really got you so jazzed? I mean, you’re, like, jumping at shadows and everything.”
Only then did I realize I had become spooked. Frightened of two ol’ ladies who I’d come to liken as friends, if not mentors. “You shouldn’t have asked the Sooters about the missing papers.”
“Why not? You wanna find about—”
“They lied. And that don’t sit right.”
“I’ve said it before, adults lie all the time, Dibby.”
“Not the Sooters. Not when it’s about their library. There ain’t no way in Heaven or Hell or wherever you like to believe, the gals would make a mistake about missing six months of newspapers. Just not possible. Not them. And they flat-out lied about it.”
“I still don’t see what the—”
“I gotta go, James. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I pedaled off fast, a tornado of confusion whupping up behind me.
When I glanced back to wave a more amiable farewell to James, I spotted the Sooter sisters from behind a library window. Shoulder to shoulder, glowering at me. And Yvette’s dark glasses were in her hand.
* * *
In bed, I tried to invite sleep by way of reading. The words on the book’s pages collided, meshed together, stirred into alphabet soup. Many times I found myself re-reading sentences until I finally gave up the ghost, turned off the lights, and waited for the real ghost to reappear.
&nbs
p; I’ll be hanged (and I reckon I hadn’t oughta say that, not in Hangwell) if I ever nodded off. But sometimes tricks of the mind can fetch one over on you, particularly when you’re rafting in that eerie boat between waking and sleeping lands.
Regardless, by the time the boy’s—Thomas’s—cries started, I’d already slipped out of bed and slipped one boot on. Aided by an earlier pot of coffee and a lot of gumption, I dressed in a jiffy.
“Help me…pleassse…”
I assumed the haunting—if I truly had to hang a title on it—was happening again in the same spot. In no time at all, I proved my assumption correct.
Deep in the cornfield stood Thomas, his back turned toward me.
“Thomas?” I said. “Is your name Thomas?”
Trembling, he spun around. Moonlight sparked life, awareness, into his eyes before they washed out again, dull as clay marbles. His unnaturally pale white skin radiated in the darkness. He stretched his arms out toward me, aching for comfort.
Then the horrible pounding started again. Corn stalks rattled, stirred by the wind. An inhuman howl whipped into a frenzy, the carrier unseen, but its presence felt. The field waved. Husks dropped beneath the intruder’s stampeding arrival.
On my knees now, I crawled toward the boy. Pulled him in tight. My fingers froze at the touch of his bare back, so I hugged him all the tighter, sharing my body warmth.
I whispered, “Thomas?”
In the crook between my shoulder and neck, I felt his little chin nod. I stroked his hair, tried my best to ignore the approaching beast. If I showed strength, Thomas would surely take strength from me. I swathed him in hugs and coddled him with words of comfort even though they didn’t do much to quell my own fear. I told him everything would be alright. But things wouldn’t be. I knew it as I knew the back of my hand.
Peculiar Country Page 4
