"Truth is, they want an outing, but they can't come back for a while," Walt continued. "We had trouble getting the truck back to the Colony's parking lot."
"No lie? What happened?" Sammy asked.
"You know how steep that main road is into the Colony from the gate?"
"Sure."
"Well, we didn't take it." Sammy wondered why Walt even mentioned it. "There's a back road that swings in below Lone Spring Road. It follows the river below the edge of the forest. It's pretty bumpy because it's sandy and hardly ever maintained. Trouble is, there's some pretty good potholes that catch you by surprise."
Sammy could picture the rest of the story, but he waited patiently for Walt to finish.
"So we chugged along in the dark, and pretty soon we took a flying leap into nowhere and came down in the middle of a huge pothole."
"Geez, did you break an axle?"
"Just stuck, but we had to walk the rest of the way to the cottages. With all those blankets and stuff, it wasn't easy." Sammy visualized the tottering band of old people, swaddled in blankets and trudging along the dark potholed road.
"And the truck?"
"It was dead in the hole, and we were all in trouble for it. So none of us are driving for a long time."
Sammy puzzled over the idea of adults being punished for an accident none of them was responsible for causing, except perhaps the driver. It didn't sound right.
"Who owns the truck?"
"The Colony."
"I don't get it. You'd think they'd be grateful no one was hurt. Walt, why is the Colony bossing you around? Isn't the truck for you to use?"
"Not exactly. Anyway, it's a good idea to hold off on the Senior Night. Maybe in March we can do something again." Walt was feeding Sammy's curiosity. "With any luck, I can still go into town with AnLillie."
Another puzzle, what did AnLillie have to do with Walt's business in town? She's just a kid. It all seemed so strange.
"Say, Walt, where does AnLillie go to school?"
"You kind of like her, don't you? But she's a little out of your age bracket."
The tips of Sammy's ears burned. He was relieved he was on the phone, out of Walt's view. "I was just wondering."
"She's been asking about you, too. Matter of fact, she's in the next room. I'll let you talk to her." Walt seemed to sense Sammy's discomfort.
The thought of talking with Walt's granddaughter brought a paralyzing fear. Sammy ended their conversation. "Gotta go, Walt. Call me sometime."
After hanging up, Sammy thought about the curious bits of information Walt had volunteered. Maybe he should talk to AnLillie. Who were these crazy old people that sneaked around for entertainment? And why was the Colony so fixed on security? Maybe she would tell a fellow kid; she would understand his curiosity. But Sammy could not formulate a plan.
* * *
The holidays were behind them. January slipped into February, leaving a bitter chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The businessmen from upstate laced distrust all over town. Some stores refused the Colony credit in hope of a healthy account from the development company.
Mrs. O'Doul uncovered this information while visiting the oldest business in the town, the railroad. A private history lesson was her reward. Many railroad personnel knew that the Colony had enticed the railroad into the area. The railroad workers had even agreed to extend a short feeder line to the Colony. Keeping it isolated was impossible. With access to transportation by rail and water, the Colony prospered, and the surrounding area grew into a town. Lumber and farming drew more people. The railroad built a large station, and the town boomed. The Colony became more involved with the town, depending less on purchasing from far away.
Now it was Mrs. O'Doul's job to help the town and the Colony restore the harmony they'd enjoyed for so many years. "What does this mean for the railroad?" she asked.
"It's complicated, as you must surely know." The official gave her a confirming nod. "To lose the Colony would mean to lose the railroad. To lose the railroad means to lose the town."
"Is the railroad that married to the Colony?" she asked.
"Old promises would be kept. This short line is more than a business arrangement." With that comment he rose from his chair, crossed to the door, opened it, and said, "Mrs. O'Doul, surely you know I can't say any more." She rose to leave.
She drove home: weary from the heavy conversation.
* * *
The fresh dump of February snow was perfect. Ending the weekend with a trip to the mountain was the winter tradition Sammy and his mother enjoyed most. The snow was perfect. As evening approached, Sammy traded skis for snowboarding while his mother retreated to the lodge. He knew she enjoyed watching him through the massive windows in the fire-lit hall overlooking the slopes.
To the side of the main run, several older teens were riding in powder, weaving through the trees. A young man in a ski mask headed toward Sammy. Sammy felt anxious. This was the same young man he had admired all last year, watching him carve turns and hit daring jumps along the tree line. He was still Sammy's hero. At times Sammy even pretended to be his partner, keeping the man's trim form in sight, trying to pick up pointers. Although he had never seen his face, Sammy could easily spot him by his unique performance—he was a real athlete.
When the young man approached the other snowboarders, a couple of them waved him to join them. "So who are they waving to?" the man asked Sammy.
Flustered, Sammy stammered a reply. "You, I guess."
"Shall we join them?" His hero walked past him toward the other snowboarders, motioning him to follow. To be included was a heady experience; Sammy couldn't resist. He grabbed his board and quickened his pace to reach the trio. The lead guys mounted their boards and flew over the first rise, turned abruptly and waited for the young man to take the lead with Sammy close behind. He felt exhilarated as he tried tricky turns and jumps. This was his rare chance to show off, so he took advantage of it.
When he ran the slope for the last time, the masked man slipped alongside him. "You're good, kid. I'll look for you again." And then he was gone.
Sammy reached the lodge, hoping he hadn't taxed his mother's patience. He knew he'd been out longer than usual. He carried his board and climbed the cement steps to the rustic lodge's main room. Always before they had met near the top of the stairs: she with her near-empty coffee mug and her book; he, with his dripping board. But she wasn't there. He waited. Another ten minutes passed. Sammy circled the fireplace and sat on the cold steps. He studied the other late skiers.
Facing the main entrance, he could see the adjoining hall that led to another wing of the lodge. About halfway down the hall, he saw his mother talking with someone. Sammy recognized the athletic build. The young man, his ski mask removed, had his back toward Sammy. His mother was shaking her head as she talked to the man. Sammy watched him pat his mother on the back, and then the man walked down the long hall away from her.
Gathering his board, Sammy hurried down the steps to join his mother. As she headed in his direction, he could tell she was upset.
"What's up, Mom? Do you know that guy?" Sammy asked.
"What do you mean?" she answered.
"That guy, the one you were just talking with. Do you know him?"
"Oh, he wanted directions, that's all." She wasn't very convincing. The ride home was long and silent. They both had things on their minds. Sammy's were nagging at him. What's going on? Why the secretive stuff?
They had made trips lots of times and always they ended well. He was tired of the intrigue, his mother's moodiness, and the constant tension in the air. What was happening to their world?
Chapter Nine: The Date
SAMMY WAS ON THE phone with John. "I just called Walt. He suspects we still don't trust him," he said, "and I think he'll talk. He's going to bring his granddaughter."
"So why bring along AnLillie?"
"I told him to do it, and he liked the idea. Besides, I think I can reason with her.
She must know if there ever was a play rehearsal. She'll tell us; she's just a kid for God's sake!"
"Sounds like a good excuse."
"Excuse for what?"
John laughed. "For you to see AnLillie."
Presidents' Day meant no school, no office work, and the sweet feeling of sleeping in late. "The Date," as John called it, was today. With John as moral support, Sammy agreed to join Walt and AnLillie at the Ice Cream Shop.
Shortly after lunch John was waiting on the store porch, never needing to be called twice to dessert. Sammy parked his bike in the rack beside the building. A fairly new dirt bike was locked in the rack's second cage. John craned his neck to watch Sammy eye the bike, run his hand over the bars, and finally pat the seat.
"Cool! Is this your new purchase?"
John smirked and said, "Yeah, pretty sweet, isn't it?"
"So where did you get it?"
"A guy at Dad's work wanted to upgrade, so he sold it for a song." John beamed as he helped Sammy check it out, spitting on the frame and polishing it with his jacket sleeve. "Do you want to hear what I sang?" At that moment a horn sounded and a brake squealed.
"Guess Walt's here."
Both boys rounded the building just as the car hopped into a large parking place in front of the store. Walt was out of the vehicle before AnLillie had her seat belt unfastened. The old man was on a mission. He hobbled around the front of the car, grabbed John's elbow, and hauled him toward the store. His mischievousness showed on his wrinkled face. Sammy was left to help AnLillie out of the car. As agile as she was, she really didn't need help. John and Walt were now watching side by side in front of the store, both of them grinning and up to no good.
Sammy knew it was a setup, but he decided to make the most of it. There were questions he needed to ask AnLillie. Walt and John's silliness was making that possible. As he watched her, he detected a subtle change.
"Hi, AnLillie. It's me, Sammy." What a stupid thing to say. She knows who I am.
"Good to see you, Sammy. It's been a long time."
Sammy realized he hadn't seen her since November, when she handed him the coupons.
"Say, weren't you wearing glasses the last time I saw you?"
"I finally outgrew them. I don't even need them for reading. It's amazing!"
"Yeah, guess they can be a nuisance." She must have been one of those four-eyed toddlers, practically born wearing glasses.
They continued into the store. Fortunately, one of the two booths was available. Walt and John slipped in together on one side, leaving AnLillie and Sammy to share the other bench. A waiter came by and got their orders: three sundaes, and one coffee milkshake for AnLillie. John suddenly remembered he wanted to show off his bike to Walt, who was eager to go. Sammy suspected it was an excuse to leave him alone with AnLillie. So this was their romantic setup. The old coot and the frisky doughboy, getting their laughs, Sammy thought. Well, he would make the most of it. This was his chance to find out more about the mysterious Walt.
As soon as John and Walt slipped out the door, the conversation between AnLillie and Sammy became richly confusing. AnLillie began, "You look so familiar." She stared at him. Sammy sat nervously on the edge of the bench. This is silly. Why am I so nervous around a little kid?
"Yeah, I've got a pretty ordinary face." Sammy didn't know what else to say.
"Walt told me you were interested in returning to the Colony. How was your outside experience?" AnLillie asked.
What was she talking about? He enjoyed riding his bike and skiing; was that what she meant? Not wanting to appear dumb, he guarded his answer. "Fine, how was yours?" That's not what he wanted to ask her. There were other questions: Who is Walt? Why is it that she and Walt seem to talk in circles around him?
The floodgate burst. Her response puzzled him. "I loved Severee. There were so many wonderful times, not to say there weren't some forgettable moments too. I especially loved living in Washington and Idaho, beautiful country. We even stayed in Alaska a couple years. I can't believe it is over."
Sammy wondered what was "over." His self-consciousness kept him from asking questions like the meaning of "Severee." It must be a place, he reasoned.
Walt and John returned from the bikes and slid into the booth, both of them giving Sammy a sly, up-to-no-good grin. AnLillie continued, "The longest time I ever lived in any one place was six years. We moved around more often than most, every couple years, especially going in and out of retreat for the children."
What kind of game is she playing? What is she talking about? She looked so sincere.
"Oh, yeah, me too," Sammy said. "I've been moving all over the place."
John and Walt slid into the booth as AnLillie said, "Were you ever under suspicion?" Walt appeared instantly agitated.
What does she mean "suspicion"? How could this kid have lived in so many places?
She repeated the question: "Were you?"
"Oh, always, you know, you know," Sammy blundered on, keeping his composure as he caught John's surprised look. Walt's agitation grew. Sammy had no idea what he was talking about.
The clerk brought the desserts. Walt hijacked the conversation as he skipped from one topic to another. He couldn't say enough about John's new bicycle, the changing weather, the delicious maple nut-flavoring in his sundae . . . And didn't she want to get to the art store? Walt's Cupid joke had soured. AnLillie's open conversation with Sammy clearly made Walt anxious.
Finally AnLillie interrupted. "Do you suppose anyone else wants to talk?"
Sammy marveled at AnLillie's precociousness. He never would have talked to his elder so brazenly. But then, he never had an elder like Walt. I wonder where she got that attitude? Walt sat silent, so Sammy spoke: "I was wondering about the Colony? Can you tell us more about it?"
"No!" Walt blurted.
AnLillie patted Walt's hand and responded, "I suppose it does look different to you. I know it took me months to find my way around."
Walt began to cough. He reached for his water glass, coughing so hard his hand shook, spilling water onto the table. The coughing wouldn't stop. A man from the next table offered to help; Walt waved him away, insisting between coughs that he was all right. John gathered napkins and sopped the spilled water into the middle of the table. AnLillie looked on, helplessly.
Sammy realized Walt was faking, putting on an act to distract AnLillie from further conversation. Whatever Walt was afraid of went beyond their meeting in the forest. This strange old man was not what he appeared to be. It had been nearly half a year since Sammy had met Walt; now he feared him more than on that strange morning last fall.
Sammy felt panic. He wanted out of this place, away from AnLillie and Walt. He needed time to make some sense of what just happened. Walt and Sammy locked gazes. That look confirmed an uncomfortable wedge between them, larger than the distance between their ages.
"I gotta go." Sammy jumped to his feet. "Hope you're feeling better, Walt. John, are you coming with me?" A few quiet seconds passed. "See ya, AnLillie."
Before John could protest, Sammy walked toward the front counter and out the door. The bike lock was stubborn under Sammy's nervous fingers. Before he could free it, John rounded the corner.
His last chunk of ice cream garbled his words. "Sammy, what's wrong?"
"It's not right, John. There's something very bizarre going on with that old man, and I plan to find out what before I spend any more time with him." They could hear the bell above the store's door as it opened then closed. John seemed to have caught Sammy's nervousness. He quickly unlocked his own bike, and they sped off together without a word.
Chapter Ten: Thoughts
SO MANY TIMES the scene had played in his thoughts: How he had hugged her, stepped back, looked into her eyes, and reached for her hands, tenderly kissing her upturned palms. So many times he'd caressed those long fingers. He remembered the day he had placed that wedding band. It rolled more loosely now. Amazing what hard work and ten years could do to so you
ng a body.
For six years it had been only the two of them. Even now, as he looked at his son playing with his cars in the sandbox, he felt the old fear rise in his chest. He studied his son and wondered: What are the others like? There must be more of them.
His son had come naturally, a difficult long birth in his opinion, but his wife managed well. Their combined pride and joy pushed his secret fear into the background. He would deal with it later.
"Can he go with you, Kurt?" she asked. Her eyes pleaded. He knew she needed rest, but today he must refuse them both. He stopped to watch his son play.
"Please, Daddy. I go too. Okay?"
"Not today, son. Come here, big boy. Give your daddy a hug." The small child ran to his father, stepped onto the front of his brown leather shoes, and grabbed his powerful long legs as they walked him around in a circle like a wooden soldier. Then the boy reached up to be held high in his arms, gave him a hug, and wiggled free to return to his play.
The father's spirit was heavy. As he walked away, he realized she must be watching and noticing the ease with which he moved. She had commented on the subtle changes in his voice, the thickening of his hair, the thinning of his belly. He credited all of it to his new passion for weightlifting, but he knew better.
His heart ached as he slipped behind the wheel of the newer car. He would leave the old one in the garage, although he didn't want to. There could be no suspicion of premeditation.
"Later" had come. It was the time he had always dreaded.
* * *
After the deed was done, he had misgivings. Was the fake car wreck necessary? Could there have been another way? He had broken their gravest law. He could not stay where he was any longer and endanger the entire community. He would make amends with them, and then convince her to follow. There must be a way to intertwine their lives.
He read in the paper that there had been a memorial. She had grieved. He'd agonized about putting her through that, but it had to be real. Six months passed before the job offer surfaced at her door. She couldn't refuse; he knew she needed the income. Everything fell into place, an affordable home, kind neighbors, and the chance to work as she had done before the boy was born. So she moved.
Between the Roots Page 6
