Between the Roots

by A. N. McDermott

  "Good thinking, Sammy, and it looks bigger under the glass, too."

  "Yeah, I'm sure he'll think it's a quarter."

  * * *

  Another long, sleepless night lay ahead of Sammy. His thoughts were scattered like water running downhill, making rivulets in all directions. Eight years he'd lived in this house, slept in this bed. He remembered the first year he and his mother had moved here. They were both sad, and this new home was a chance to forget the pain. His mother was his only family, unless you counted Mrs. West, a spunky adopted grandma. Now, when his mother attended those important meetings that she said she would soon tell him about, he'd report to Mrs. West's house just to keep her company. Kind of a reversal of roles, Sammy told himself.

  His mother had kept his father's memory alive all these years. When he was old enough to read, he'd discovered the account of the accident in a folded, yellowing newspaper clipping tucked inside a family album. The picture showed a powerful tow cable anchored to a car extended over a river pool where the water cut deep into its bank. Tire marks cut through tall grass running down the steep hill. The words told of the dangerous curve that had claimed other vehicles on other foggy nights. At first they thought it was a stolen car, but the license plate and the brown leather shoe bobbing on the water's surface turned out to be his dad's. They dragged the pool bottom and miles down the river but no body was found. His mother told him the rest, all about the memorial, the waves of well-meaning friends. But to a four-year-old nothing made sense.

  Even now Sammy felt confused when he thought of his dad. Of all the pictures in the family album, there were only two of his father. Both pictures were taken the year his father and mother were married. His father seemed older than his mother, something that didn't fit his vague memories. The newspaper clipping was a powerful link that Sammy often thought about during times of loneliness. He dwelt on the image of the drowned car rising from a murky grave to reveal the license plate. And he thought of the brown leather shoe.

  There were times he wished his mother would get on with her life, even find him a new father, not as strict as John's, but one who could be a part of his activities, go skiing with him, play ball, and perhaps even listen to a troubling story about a walled forest. But work, and meetings she'd tell him about "someday," kept her busy. The recent rumors spread by the Proper Land Use Committee about the Colony had a direct impact on their lives. She had even more meetings to attend.

  Tuesday was better. Sammy had slept after all. The boys again made plans to go to the Ice Cream Shop. They met on the corner of First and Main near the candy-cane-painted street sign marking the busy intersection. They leaned against the pole, pretended to ignore one another, and then checked their watches while people walked by.

  "He might have sneaked past us," John said.

  "You're right. It's time to go in. Remember, one scoop." Sammy plunged his hand into his pocket and fingered the stakeout money, the rest of this week's allowance. If Walt didn't show today, he'd have to tap into his savings, ten dollars and eighty-two cents stuffed in a thick ski sock next to his underwear.

  The clerk recognized them. "A scoop of strawberry on a sugar cone, right?" He pointed to John. John smiled.

  "I'll have chocolate, please," Sammy said. He hadn't realized they left such a lasting impression.

  "It's two scoops for the price of one today. Lucky day for you big spenders."

  Sammy knew he should have left a bigger tip last night. But between John's appetite and not knowing how long this hunt would last, he decided to err on the side of stingy.

  The back table was free again, so the boys proceeded to "their" table. A group of older girls from school entered the store, took one look at the boys, and started giggling.

  "What'd I do, forget to put on clothes?" John asked Sammy.

  "Naw, they're just looking at your muscles."

  "Wrong, they were looking at the one between your ears." Sammy punched his friend on the arm.

  John leaned forward again, this time whispering: "Look who's coming in the door? Is that the old fossil, Sammy?"

  The bent figure leaned on a cane with one hand, while a middle-aged woman supported his other arm. They shuffled to the counter in unison.

  "No. That's not him. And your times a-comin', John. You'd better watch your tongue."

  Other customers began to fill the store. It was busier than yesterday: two-for-one temptation. Sammy realized this was a double bonus for them as well. If Walt knew anything about the special, he might take advantage of it. Another wave of customers moved in, all of them elderly but none of them Walt.

  "This has got to be the day. All those old guys like discounts." John sounded disappointed with his insight. His cone was fast disappearing.

  "It's getting crowded. Let's go outside and sit on the sidewalk," Sammy said. "John, did you notice anything strange in there?"

  "What are you getting at?"

  "I recognized most of those people, especially the kids."

  "So?"

  "So, where are the Colony folks?"

  Although the sun was beginning to set behind the town's tallest buildings, there was still heat radiating from the sidewalk. The cement soon lost its warmth. It was hard and uncomfortable. Sammy, discouraged, stood to leave.

  At that moment a horn sounded; then a brake squealed. The rookie detectives perked up. A brief pause of silence followed, broken by the annoying sound of metal scraping cement. Three parking places up the street, a car came to a cringing stop against the curb, grating its front bumper on the sidewalk edge.

  "Wow, nice landing!" John called out.

  The boys walked up the street to check out the driver. A familiar-looking girl popped out of the passenger's side and slammed her door. She hurried to the front of the car and bent down to assess the damage.

  "It's okay. You just have to ease it in a little more slowly next time," she called.

  The old man closed his door and peered sheepishly over the car hood at her. It was Walt! Sammy nudged John. "That's him!" Walt and the girl approached. The girl made Sammy nervous, yet he stepped up boldly. "Hello, sir."

  Walt looked as surprised and pleased as Sammy was. He said, "Well, if it isn't the hat boy." Noticing John, he continued, "This is AnLillie."

  Sammy felt awkward being introduced to the girl. His mother was right; she was cute, but he thought his mom was wrong about her age. She acted so poised and sure of herself. He felt a rush of nervous excitement when he looked into her blue eyes.

  "Hello." AnLillie extended her hand, eyeing him carefully.

  Sammy didn't respond; John nudged him. Awkwardly, he shook her hand. She smiled. Then she held out her hand to John. He quickly rubbed his sticky palm over his jeans before taking it.

  John broke the silence. "I'm John and this is Sammy."

  "Sammy, you must live nearby. I think I've seen you, here at the store," AnLillie said.

  This pleased Sammy. Then to Walt he said, "Do you want us to help you push your car off the curb?" He knew he had brushed her off, but he was nervous.

  AnLillie said to Walt, "I'll wait for you in the store."

  She walked past the boys. Sammy's head pivoted to watch her climb the steps and disappear. His attention shifted back to Walt, who stood sporting a ridiculous wrinkled grin. Sammy felt even more embarrassed.

  "You do remember me, Walt, don't you?" Sammy said.

  "You broke your promise, didn't you, Sammy?" Walt watched John as he spoke.

  "I'm sorry, I had to tell someone. John won't tell. Believe me, he won't tell."

  The old man said, "I hoped you'd be here, but I was afraid you would talk. This is the first time since Saturday that AnLillie wanted to go for a ride."

  What did AnLillie have to do with Walt returning to town? Sammy wondered.

  "I don't have time to talk right now." Walt tapped his cane nervously on the sidewalk.

  "Can we meet tomorrow, Mr. Walt?"

  "Yes. Come to the wall after school. I'l
l meet you outside the gate."

  Both boys agreed. Relieved and lighthearted, Sammy turned to go, jingling the change in his pocket.

  "Remember, not another word to anyone," Walt warned as he shuffled toward the store. "No sense starting another silly rumor."

  Chapter Four: A Country Ride

  PLANNING AHEAD WAS NOT a priority for Sammy, and likely John had never heard the term; otherwise they would have insisted Walt drive to meet them. Neither one of them realized how difficult the trip to the walled forest would be. Transportation hadn't occurred to anyone. John was without a bike since he parked it in front of the garage door behind his dad's pickup. He still maintained that his dad should have noticed it once the garage door went up. Even without its kickstand, it had rested a couple feet above the ground. Now it could fit under a small car.

  This day moved surprisingly fast. Sammy had ridden his bike to school, and after the bell, they stood alongside their shared vehicle and puzzled over how one bike, two backpacks, and two riders would manage the three-mile distance to meet Walt. To make matters more challenging, there was no rear fender, leaving only the seat and the handlebars for passengers. Sammy reasoned, since it was his bike, he would sit on the seat and do the pedaling. John would balance his ample rear on the bars, spread-eagling his legs away from the front tire.

  Three wobbly blocks into their ride, it was obvious they would have to do something differently. All Sammy could see was the back of John's pack and the ground on either side of the pedals. He eased the bike to a stop, causing John to veer sharply to the side and topple off.

  "We'll never make it at this rate," Sammy complained. "It's mostly these darn backpacks and that big rear end of yours. I can't see around it."

  "We gotta leave them somewhere and pick them up on the way back," John suggested.

  "The backpacks?" Sammy asked with a smirk on his face.

  "No, my butt, you idiot child." John rapped him on the head with his fist. He started wiggling around, tugging to rearrange his pants, relieving himself of the indentation made from the handlebar.

  In the short distance from school, they'd passed several homes and a market. Both boys stood at the street's edge, surveying possible drop sites. The only trees or bushes for hiding places were behind private fences. They settled on the market near the intersection. A long shelf near its front door held buckets of purple kale, ready for fall planting. There was just enough room under the shelf to squeeze both backpacks. Pausing only to see if they were being watched, the boys slipped their burdens from their backs and hid them under the kale.

  Again they took their positions, Sammy pedaling, John balancing on the bar, directing the driver. They zigzagged down School Avenue, then made a daring left turn onto Lone Spring Road. A horn blast from an oncoming car ignited Sammy's temper. "Geez, John, why didn't you warn me there was a car coming our way?"

  "Ah, I knew he could see us."

  Occasionally the road ahead came into Sammy's view when John tilted, leaving Sammy to counter-tilt. Progress was being made. They'd traveled almost a mile when disaster struck. All the bouncing made John fart right into Sammy's face.

  "Holy cats, what died!" Sammy gagged, closed his eyes, and grabbed his nose. The bike and riders wavered, then landed in the soft shoulder alongside the road.

  "Couldn't help it, honest." John and Sammy laughed while John hobbled on his freshly bruised leg. They staggered around the bike pushing at each other. Each roll of laughter led to another explosive outburst.

  "Let's put you in the driver's seat and make use of the jet propulsion."

  Getting to ride high on the handlebars and letting John do all the work for a change was worth the temporary insult. They were making better time. John's pedaling was his strong suit. Sammy's light frame floated over each small bump.

  They continued along the lonely stretch of road in silence for several minutes. Only two cars had passed them since they had left School Avenue. "Hey, Sammy, what did you tell your mom you'd be doing after school?" John shouted above the crunching of the wheels on gravel.

  "She's at another meeting; so I told Mrs. West I'd be with you for a while."

  "Your mom sure has lots of meetings."

  "Guess so. Things are really heating up with this new developer."

  Tree shadows covered the road, letting in only slices of sunshine and reminding Sammy that their ride was nearly over. He turned his head sideways and shouted, "So, what did you tell your folks?"

  "I said I was going to be with you, but I promised I'd be home by five."

  "We'll have to hurry."

  They reached the familiar, mossy stone wall. The boys continued traveling several minutes along it. To Sammy the wall seemed longer. Ahead of them a low, dark form lay by the roadside.

  "Hold up, John!" Sammy yelled.

  It was a wounded animal. The small dog slowly raised its head to show pleading eyes. Its body jerked. Too weakened to stand, the dog allowed the boys to examine her. The frightened eyes stared into their faces.

  "She's a goner. Look how old and frail she is already." John patted her head tenderly.

  "Help me lift her. Maybe we can put her near the wall."

  Sammy lifted her head and shoulders as John eased his arms under the dog's back. She was remarkably light.

  Someone was shuffling out from the wall further down the road. The unusual gait belonged to Walt.

  "You need help?"

  Seeing Walt here once again jolted Sammy back to their first encounter. He felt his pulse quicken as he hurried to disguise his anxiety. Sammy blurted, "She looks bad."

  Sammy hoped Walt would take any sign of his fear as concern for the dog.

  "Let's bring her to the Colony. Someone can help." They formed a strange parade: an old man thrusting a cane to speed him along, a slim boy pushing a bike, a chunky lad burdened with an injured dog.

  "She's pretty wasted, probably won't make it. Poor old thing," Sammy said.

  "I wouldn't be too sure about that," Walt snapped at Sammy with surprising irritation. "Wait at the gate; I'll be back soon." Then, as if having an afterthought, he turned and asked, "Does anyone know where you guys are?"

  Sammy replied, "Not really," then immediately regretted his response.

  Sammy rested the bike against the wall, while John sat against it holding the dog. As they waited, Sammy wondered aloud: "Have we made a mistake? Should we have told someone where we were going?"

  Their wait was brief. Walt appeared at the gate pulling a flat wooden wagon. The boys lifted the frightened animal onto its bed.

  "She'll be all right. We've got a good vet here," Walt said.

  Try as he might, Sammy could not see this old man as threatening, yet what they had seen together in the forest had been so shocking.

  "She seems like she'll die of old age before she'll die of her injuries," Sammy said.

  Turning toward Sammy, Walt tilted his head and gave him an odd, sly smirk.

  "Just because she looks old to you, doesn't mean she feels old to her."

  Where is that coming from? Sammy thought. I'd better keep quiet about old age.

  "So, I'm glad you fellows could make it. How come only one bike?"

  "I sorta had an accident with mine," John said.

  They stood looking at one another for a moment before Sammy spoke. "Walt, you said we could talk." His eyes drifted to the dog and he knew that this visit would have to be cut short. "That time in the woods last week has been bothering me." Sammy lowered his head. "It's really bothering me."

  Walt interrupted. "I'm sorry. It's like I told you in the forest. It's really not what you might have thought. It was . . . "

  This time Sammy interrupted. "Well, I thought I saw a dead body. And then I saw it move."

  The old man motioned for Sammy to lower his voice. "You were watching a rehearsal for a show. That's all it was, just a practice."

  "You mean it was a play practice?"

  "That's what I mean," Walt said. "Every f
all we have a big celebration in honor of . . . the end of summer, the beginning of the sleeping months." The dog whimpered.

  "Well it sure wasn't the sleeping time for poor old Sammy," quipped John. "To think I did all that pedaling to find out you were watching a play rehearsal."

  "But it was so real!" Sammy insisted.

  "That's good. I'd tell them that, only I wasn't supposed to be watching either. It's always a big surprise . . . it's like a competition to see which skit is the most unique. Those actors would think I was spying on them for the other performers." As Walt explained, his voice and face became more animated.

  "So when's the big production?" John asked.

  Again the old man became agitated. "Soon, but it's not open to the public, just the Colony." He looked determinedly into Sammy's eyes. Changing the subject, Walt said, "You fellows must be in the same grade."

  "Same room most of the time," Sammy replied knowing that Walt was covering something up with his sudden new interest in school.

  "Sammy and I have been friends since first grade."

  "So both of you must have lived all your lives around here?" The question was directed more toward Sammy. It felt like probing, as if the old man were verifying something he already knew. Hadn't AnLillie asked a similar question?

  "I moved here awhile before I started school." The dog yipped as the wagon bumped over rocks thrown from the road. They both looked at the injured animal. Questions would have to wait. Sammy thought Walt was glad of that. Still, he pushed for more information. "John and I are curious about this place."

  "Well, the Colony's a really closely knit community. We just look out for one another." He turned the wagon toward the open gate and readied it for its downhill trip to the unseen forest buildings.

  "So, it's like an old-folks home?" John added.

  "You could call it that, if you want."

  Walt seemed nervous, as if he'd told them more than he should have. He hesitated and asked, "You will come back, right? I've got to get this animal some help." Sammy recognized a familiar yearning in his voice; he seemed lonely.

  "Yeah, sure," John was quick to reply, his answer screaming with insincerity.