Both boys and Jane stood next to the table, arms filled with plates of food and burning candles. Within seconds, Jane inched the overhanging tablecloth back to position and reset the now-extinguished candles. Except for the two place settings on the floor, the table stood corrected. Walt picked up the broken plates and scattered silver. Jane directed him toward the kitchen as soon as she saw Helen safely seated in her chair.
Sammy followed him. "Geez, Walt, you sure are giving me my money's worth."
"I'm darn sure Mrs. West isn't laughing. That was horrible. I hope she's going to be okay. Your old people can't take that falling-down business. I know, it's just as bad on us young folks." Walt threw the dish chunks in the garbage. "What's she gonna say when I go back in there?"
"Probably, 'here comes the dirty old man!'" Sammy handed Walt new dishes and a fist of silverware.
By the time they reached the dining room, Helen was laughing so hard tears filled her eyes. John sat grinning, obviously having made some redeeming remark.
The meal continued with light conversation until Sammy and John bombarded Walt with questions about his past. Walt amazed everyone with his sharp recollections of fearless hunting trips in the jungles of South America, where he had carried a thirty-pound gun and walked barefoot in piranha-infested waters. He recalled eating raw poisonous snakes and fat squirming grubs, after nearly starving from losing his food pack in a quicksand trap. But saving a band of helpless natives from a herd of ferocious water buffalo in the steaming mosquito swamps was his greatest memory. "We paddled forty miles up a small stream that turned out to be a trap. The mosquitoes were so large and thick we took to swatting them with our paddles, until one of the paddles broke."
Sammy was the only one who had heard enough. Mrs. West was thoroughly enjoying the ridiculous stories. Sammy's mother was delighted. Clearly, Walt's charming ways proved great entertainment. But worse, even John seemed enthralled. When Walt wasn't talking about devouring disgusting things, he was complimenting Sammy's mother on the delicious food she had prepared.
If you compare it to what he claims he'd eaten, that's no compliment, Sammy thought.
"Mom makes the best desserts. You like sweets, don't you, Walt?"
"I love sweets!" Walt exclaimed, all smiles.
"Oh, yeah," Sammy said, "that reminds me. Should I get that candy Walt bought you, Mrs. West?"
"Oh my, yes. That's all the dessert I need. And you really must have some, Walt," Helen insisted.
John and Sammy both rushed to the living room to find the huge box of chocolates. "Oh, let this be even older than AnLillie's," Sammy said to John.
John asked, "Sammy, do you have any rice?"
"Great idea! Here, you open the box while I get it." He went to the kitchen, pulled a jar of rice from the bottom shelf, and scooped out a handful.
When he brought it back, John lifted the candy lid and nearly dumped the moving chocolate and raisin morsels on the rug. Squirming grubs were pulsing around the stale but slightly gooey candy. There was really no need to add the fake rice grubs, but if some is funny, lots is hilarious. So Sammy opened his fist and sprinkled the white nuggets over the entire box. At first glance, they couldn't tell the maggots from the rice grains. Perfect! The boys returned to the dining room, carrying the revolting gift.
Before offering the candy to Mrs. West, Sammy dimmed the overhead lights and relit the table candles. "We forgot our ambiance. There, that's perfect for after dinner."
"Perfect!" Walt echoed.
Sammy said, "Walt, since they're your treat, you'd better have the first bite, you know, the poison test. You wouldn't want Mrs. West dropping dead from poison candy, would you?"
"Can't have that, especially after nearly killing you with the chair." Walt smiled at Mrs. West. Evidently, he had forgotten about AnLillie's chocolates. He reached into the box without looking, grabbed a piece, and popped it into his mouth.
At that moment John turned up the lights and said, "Sammy, what's in that box?" The box was now resting on the table between Walt and Mrs. West. Its contents came alive in the sudden burst of light.
"Bugs! Oh, Walt, spit it out!" Mrs. West squealed.
Too late. He had swallowed the entire piece. Walt rose quickly, propelling himself through the room, and into the bathroom across the hall. A disgusting barfing sound followed. Sammy rushed to the bathroom door. "Guess those weren't as tasty as the ones in South America, huh, Walt?"
It didn't matter that Sammy was grounded for a week. When he watched Walt help Helen down the steps to her car, walk around to the driver's side, and bunny-hop her rig out of the driveway; he knew Walt had earned their friendship. The score was even. Walt wasn't half bad, and besides, he could drive . . . sort of.
Chapter Fifteen: West Remembers
THE WEEK WENT BY more quickly than anticipated. Being grounded meant returning directly home after school, no bike riding. The rains let loose again, so staying indoors was no punishment. Punishment came on Tuesday, when he had to face Mrs. West. She graciously accepted Sammy's apology, but wanted answers to probing questions as part of her due.
"How long have you known Walt?" That was easy. "Was that Walt I'd seen earlier in town driving around with a little girl?"
He nodded and told her Lillie's name.
"Many years ago, I used to know an old lady by that name. I remember it because I always thought if I had a daughter I would name her Lillie. It's unusual, but then so was the old lady."
"How so?" Sammy asked.
"I must have been about your age when I met her. She volunteered at school, a couple years at least. All the girls liked to visit with her, especially when she brought her paintings. She said she was just learning, but I think she'd been painting most of her life. Such talent."
Echoes of Walt's praise of AnLillie's art sent shivers through Sammy's body.
"Lillie was so childlike, she understood us. And so sharp, really funny too."
"Whatever happened to her?" Sammy tried to sound vaguely interested, yet he was boiling inside with curiosity.
"She stopped coming to school. Went away on a trip, is what the teacher told us. But all these years I've remembered her."
"It's been a long time," Sammy said.
"Probably sixty years."
Mrs. West became very quiet. She leaned toward Sammy, who was now shuffling papers, trying to avoid further conversation. She whispered, "Do you know her, Sammy?"
"Mrs. West, that's ridiculous, if she was old sixty years ago, she'd be dead."
Mrs. West seemed satisfied. Why would she ask such a strange question? Did she know about the Colony? Was Walt's AnLillie the same person Mrs. West remembered? There's more to this Colony that he needed to uncover.
Chapter Sixteen: Building Friendships
THE PHONE KEPT RINGING. In a stupor of weekend laziness, Sammy wobbled into the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
"So am I in?" the old voice asked.
"Geez, Walt, what time is it? Don't you know it's Saturday?" Sammy was irritated. He'd let the phone ring several times before realizing he was the only one home.
"Sorry, but I've waited a week for your grounding to be over, and I wanted to know."
"What?"
"Am I one of the 'guys'?"
"You know, Walt, now I really believe you, 'cause no cotton pickin' grown-up would ask a question like that."
"So . . . " There was a big pause. "So . . . what do you think?"
"About what?"
"What do you think, you know, about me being a part of the guys?"
"Geez, Walt, go back to bed."
"I've got the car."
Interested, Sammy said, "Really? How did you manage that?"
"I guess AnLillie had a soft spot for me after I told her what you fellows put me through. She must figure I earned it. Also, I've been practicing driving all over the Colony this week. The workmen are sick of me making bigger ruts in the muddy roads."
"So what do you plan to do with the car
?"
"Let's call John. We can go for a ride."
Nothing was holding Sammy at home. His mom was meeting with the editor of the local newspaper. She wanted to discuss writing an informational article to counter the many negative opinion letters he'd published about the Colony. When Sammy had asked why she was so worked up, she told him that two teens had been put in jail on assault and shoplifting charges and would soon go to trial. She'd said they could be put away for a good chunk of their lives. Sammy was about to scoff that the most they could get would be a few years, but then considered she was probably right: these were Colony boys. Being young and aging backwards, they didn't have that long to go.
"Sammy?"
Walt's voice brought him back to the moment, and he considered Walt's offer. Nothing was keeping him home; an outing with "the boys" was tempting. He said, "I'll call John. I'll be ready in ten minutes."
It wasn't the sort of adventure the boys would plan, but then, that's what made it an adventure. All three boys squeezed into the front seat of the old car. It ran more smoothly than Sammy remembered.
"Hey, Walt, your driving is improving," John said.
"Of course. Look at this." With one hand on the wheel, Walt reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open. "My license, no restrictions, not even glasses."
"Is this what you were working on in that computer lab?"
"Yep. AnMike changed a few things. Presto, I'm a younger man!"
Sammy glanced at Walt, realizing what a different direction his thoughts ran in from this "old man's." Each year, Sammy prided himself on the milestones of aging. He could now touch the kitchen light fixtures from a standing jump, his fingers easily gripped a basketball, and a soft layer of fuzz was padding his chin. He was becoming a man. Walt, however, could walk longer distances without a cane, grip a steering wheel with less pain, and comb the new fuzz on his bald spot. He was becoming a younger man.
"When I showed AnLillie the new license, she gave me permission to take the car out, solo, on the Colony back roads. But this is the first real 'solo' flight out of town!"
"Solo and outta town. All right!" John exclaimed as he rolled the window down to feel the wind blast freely about him.
Sandwiched between Walt, the old, new friend, and John, the young old friend, Sammy listened to their banter as the car ate up the open highway south of town.
"So, how fast will this puppy move?"
"Can't tell. AnLillie had AnMike put a governor on her."
"Spoil sports."
"Yeah, I guess they know me."
"Shoot, I was hoping for more than a Sunday drive with Gramps," John moaned.
"There's other ways to speed things up."
A sign appeared around the bend directing them on toward Rule, twelve miles ahead. The exit was a gentle decline. A tunnel of trees led them across the bridge into the small community. The boys had been there many times. But with their new sense of freedom, the old town felt different. The post office and library faced one another, guarding the town's entrance. A cleaners and hardware store were next to the post office. Other shops across the unusually wide street stood formidably, all made of brick. The courthouse and jail were the focal point, dominating the center of the main street. Every building and every street was washed clean from yesterday's downpours. A few people milled on the sidewalk, bundled up, anticipating another day of showers.
Walt eased the old car into a diagonal parking place in front of a store. He turned off the engine. Both boys noticed the sign on the building: LIQUOR STORE, NO MINORS.
"Why are you stopping here?" Sammy asked.
"I just wanted to see if my license worked."
"Walt, have you looked in the mirror lately?" John remarked. "You don't need a license to get in there. The only 'minor' they could mistake you for is the kind that wears a hardhat and carries a pickax."
Walt went into the store. With the motor running, Sammy and John sat in the car waiting. A short time later, the old man used his back to push open the store's barred door. In one hand he had his cane; in the other, a bulging paper bag, which he raised above his chest as he mouthed the word "success." Sammy frowned; John grinned.
Walt drove them to the city park, where they got out and walked the path that eventually went under the bridge. If it rained, they'd be dry there.
John and Sammy hustled along. They were familiar with the web of walkways and knew the most direct route to the bridge. Walt followed at a distance, covered by the commanding maples that were dressed in tender green foliage. Their massive canopy was like the germinal forest, ancient and protective. Burdened with his purchase and old man's body, he fell further behind. Two teens on bikes whisked past Sammy and John, then headed toward Walt. They crossed abruptly in front of him, forcing him to stop. "Hey, old man, what's in the bag?"
Walt ignored them and continued to walk the path. The riders passed him, halted, raised their front wheels and jerked their bikes around to circle and then flank him. "Hey, Pops, you got your ear plugs turned off?" One of the teens jeered.
Sammy glanced back at Walt. The menacing teens were spinning circles around him, approaching close enough for concern. Together Sammy and John raced to join Walt. From one of the side paths a whir of movement caught their attention. A shaggy black and brown dog raced in and knocked Walt to the ground. The snarling mongrel ripped the bag from Walt's hand and ran back to its master, a lady seated fifty yards away on a park bench. All five of the boys watched in disbelief as she patted the dog's head, retrieved the bag, snapped on the leash, stood, and walked away, her long, green slicker-coat slapping against her ankles. The stunned group saw her wave a good-bye over her head not bothering to look back.
"So much for your guzzle, old man," chided one of the teens before he raced his partner to the street.
"Guess that serves you right for trying to corrupt us," Sammy said.
"Do you call three pepperoni sticks, soda, and a bag of corn nuts corruption?" Walt was angry. "Dang it, I never would've guessed a sweet-looking lady like that could be a thief."
"Let's go get her!" John said, starting to run in her direction. "She can't get away with that!"
Sammy said, "She can if she's got a dog like that."
"I had no idea Fritz looked so ferocious," Walt said.
"Fritz? What are you talking about? Who's Fritz?"
"That dog looks just like our watchdog, Fritz. All that black and brown long hair."
"Amazing! You're right," John said. "That dang dog looks just like the one that nearly bit your butt off, Sammy."
"No wonder you keep that mutt as a guard. He is one ugly, mean-looking mutt. I wonder if they're related."
There wasn't much point heading toward the bridge. Their spirits were broken, and so were the clouds that were unleashing the first of the threatened rains. Once in the car, they revised their plans and went to the donut shop at the far end of town. It was a cozy place, a throwback to the fifties, with high-backed booths on either side of the boxy room. A counter was in the center, festooned with yummy pastries: some behind glass shelves, others under large glass domes, begging for a place on a customer's plate.
They made their choices and carried the treats to the back booth. Just as they settled in and began eating, the bell over the door signaled more arrivals. Two suited gentlemen approached the cashier, purchased coffee, and retreated to the booth nearest the door.
"I've seen those guys before," Walt whispered as he leaned over the table and slid closer to the wall. "They were driving up and down the old Colony service road."
Sammy lowered his head and said, "I've heard they'll do anything to turn the town against you people. That one guy is the same man who got so upset in the ice cream store."
Again the bell over the door signaled business. They all slid deeper into their seats as the newest customer crossed the counter to approach the two men. The raincoat hood fell from her head. It was the woman from the park. Her savage dog, chained to the parkin
g meter in front of the shop, was barking and lunging against its leash.
"So how's the student?" asked one of the men.
"Lessons are almost over," the woman replied. She joined the two men sipping coffee, apparently believing they were the only customers in the shop. "So what are the plans? They'd better be worth all my trouble." The boys stared at each other, scooted tighter to the wall, and kept their heads well below the top of the booth.
"It's easy work. You just take the mutt to the next town and make a nuisance of him," one of the men explained.
The partner chimed in, "Just don't let anyone suspect he's our dog."
"He isn't a chicken killer, is he?" asked the first man.
"You never told me to train him for that." Her voice sounded irritated.
"Never mind; it's just an afterthought. It would have been nice, though. There's nothing like dead livestock to make people angry."
Once again the bell signaled business. Sammy moved enough to see two women enter the building. One lady shook water from a large umbrella, collapsed it, and leaned it against the outside doorframe.
The conversation at the front table stopped. Again, Sammy peered around the booth to watch the men and their accomplice walk out of the shop. Through the front window, he could see the dog jump against the shortest man, nearly knocking him down before his friend grabbed the umbrella to push the dog away. The woman grabbed the leash and yanked it roughly toward herself before unhooking it from the meter. Once free, the dog instantly bolted toward the man, this time knocking him to the ground.
The boys watched the action. While the dog bared his teeth and growled fiercely into the downed man's face, a boot thudded onto his chest. The woman set her heel firmly into the man's stomach, reached into his suit coat pocket, and removed a shiny leather wallet. His friend watched from a distance. She took several bills, tucked them into her coat, then threw the wallet on the sidewalk. Once more, she jerked on the dog's leash. As the woman walked away she yelled, "I said I like my payment up front. I mean what I say."
The onlookers inside the bakery were dumbstruck. They watched the men gather their composure and leave, heading in the opposite direction.
Between the Roots Page 10
