The Hidden Agenda of Sigrid Sugden

by Jill MacLean

  On the other side of the road, sharp-edged rocks, then a steep drop to the sea.

  Tate leads the cow to the middle of the road, unhitches the rope, and loops it around her arm. Then she runs for my bike, hollering, “Let Sigrid go, Mel! We’ve done all we can here—time to leave.”

  Mel drops me and lumbers down the slope. I race past her. I have to reach the cow before Mel takes it in her head to throw stones at her and send her over the cliff.

  The cow sees me coming, gives a low moo, and trundles closer to the edge of the road. I stop dead. Can’t risk driving her on to the rocks. Over my shoulder, as if it’s happening to someone else, I see Tate drive away on my bike and Mel on hers. They disappear around the corner.

  I’m alone in the middle of the road with a cow. I’ve never been this close to a cow before. I hadn’t realized how big they are.

  The pig could get out, too. But if I shut the gate, I can’t drive the cow through it.

  In a shaky voice, I say, “Nice cow, good cow,” and reach for the rope halter. She tosses her head. Pink lips with pale whiskers. Dark, curvy eyelashes in a wide brown face.

  Okay, Sigrid. You don’t need a sword here. You need brains.

  If I go around her back end, I’ll be between her and the rocks. Cautiously, I step past her hip, her bones big as whalebones. Her tail swishes, its white tuft walloping me on the thigh. I yelp. She takes a startled step forward. We both stand there, frozen.

  “I gotta get you in the field,” I whisper. “Please, help me out.”

  Am I praying to a cow now?

  Making as wide a circle as I can, I walk around her tail. Then I try twice more to catch hold of her halter, taking my time, talking to her soft like I talk to Ghost, wishing I could close my mind to Ghost. One stone undoing all of Travis’s taming and mine.

  The third time, my fingers brush the halter, but the cow jerks her head so sharp I can’t get a grip.

  I step back, breathe deep, and talk to her some more.

  Then, from behind me, I hear sounds. Bike tires in the dirt, someone panting. It can’t be Tate, it’s the wrong way, the way from Gulley Cove.

  Hud crests the hill, knees and elbows sticking out.

  When he sees me and the cow, he brakes so sudden that the bike slews in the dirt.

  The cow skitters sideways, almost on top of me and the rocks. Heart thudding, I back up as far as I can go. The whites of her eyes catching the light, she makes an ungainly hop away from me, then stands still, her sides heaving. She lifts her tail. Wet and stinky, a cow pattie plops to the road.

  Hud puts his bike down. He walks alongside the cow, keeping his distance, ending up several feet from her pink nose, and all the while he’s checking out the open gate, the pig rooting happily in the ruined garden, the wide-open barn door.

  ‘What happened?” he says, and he sounds almost awestruck.

  “What d’you think happened? Tate and Mel.” I wipe my hands down my jeans. “Unless you think I did it?”

  “Hey, take it easy.”

  “’Cause if you think that, there’s no use pretending we’re friends.”

  “Chill out, Sigrid! I know you didn’t do it. You’re too much of a softie.”

  A softie? “Chill out? Take it easy? When a cow’s on the loose?”

  “The pig, too,” he says.

  My voice as jagged as the rocks, I say, “We have to lead the cow into Abe’s field before someone comes along and she ends up breaking a leg. Or falling down the cliff.”

  We…like I’m counting on Hud to help.

  When he steps nearer, the cow backs up, her big hooves scraping the dirt, slobber dangling in long strands from her lips.

  I take a couple of deep breaths. Maybe chill out wasn’t such bad advice. “You stay here, Hud. I’ll get some grass. Likely we can lead her through the gate that way.”

  I dash across the road, tear big handfuls of grass mixed with clover and daisies out of the ditch, and hurry back.

  “Do cows eat daisies?” Hud says dubiously.

  “Sure they do,” I say, as if I know all about the eating habits of cows.

  Standing close to him, I pass him the ragged green bundle. He pulls out a couple of daisies and drops them on the ground, and that’s when we both hear the same sound—a vehicle coming from the direction of Ratchet.

  Surely whoever it is will help us.

  Abe’s rattletrap old truck comes around the bend. Its brakes squeal. Louder than Ghost, I think, ice congealing in my belly.

  The cow throws her head back and moos.

  Twenty-Six

  to snare

  Abe climbs out of his truck. to the ground. Taking his time, he looks from us and the cow to the pig happily tromping what’s left of the garden. Then he fastens his faded blue eyes on me. “I warned you against keepin’ company with Hud.”

  “Huh?” I say stupidly.

  “I put my trust in you. And now look what your buddy’s done.”

  Hud takes a step forward. “I didn’t do it!”

  Abe ignores him. “And where was you, Sigrid, while all this was goin’ on? Did you stand and watch? Or did you arrive after he was done, so you decided to have a nice chat, the two o’ you, and me cow standin’ this close to the rocks?”

  “Did I stand and watch?” I say in a thin voice. “Is that what you think of me?”

  “I tol’ you the day we had our talk about you visitin’ the barn that I don’t much hold with change.”

  I can’t come up with one flicker of anger. Not one. Not even when I need it so bad. I force my brain in gear. “It wasn’t Hud…it was two other girls.”

  “Two other girls,” Abe says. “I don’t see no other girls.”

  “They left. On bikes.”

  “No cause to lie, just to defend the likes of Hud Quinn.”

  “I’m telling you the truth!”

  Abe turns to Hud. “I seen you in action before, and none of it good. But me cow? The pig? The garden?”

  “It was Tate and Mel,” Hud says, real fierce, “and I’d bet you six cows Sigrid did her best to stop them.”

  “Ain’t you a fine pair,” Abe says.

  He turns away, walks up to the cow, and strokes her long nose, his movements calm and gentle. “Okay, Rosie, settle down now. Proper thing Danny was dead-drunk, seeing as how it made me come home early.”

  As he takes her by the halter, she stands there, placid as can be. Abe says, “Where’s the rope?”

  “One of the girls took it,” I say.

  He sighs. “I s’pose this young feller tossed it over the cliff.”

  “I never saw the rope!”

  “Hud came along after,” I cry, “he was only trying to help. Truly, Abe, I did try to stop them—I love your barn, I wouldn’t touch anything in it.”

  “You won’t get the chance again because neither one of you will be comin’ anywheres near my place—not you nor him,” Abe says. Then he leads the cow across the road and up the sloping path toward the garden.

  I’ve never been beaten up in my life—Mel’s the closest I’ve come to that—but I figure this is how you might feel after someone puts his fists to you.

  I don’t say this to Hud. He’s scowling at Abe’s back. “He didn’t even listen to you. Tate and Mel—I’m gonna clean their clock.”

  “Bit late for that.”

  He shifts the scowl to my face. “You going home now?”

  “No,” I say, my shoulders sagging. “Mel threw a rock at the white cat, scared it silly so it high-tailed out of the barn—I’m worried it might be lost, or too frightened to come back for food. So I guess I’ll go up the road a piece, then search the woods behind the barn.” The words burst out of me. “Does mean always win?”

  “Seems like it.” His eyes are gray as the sea in winter. “No use me searching for the white cat.”

  “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

  “You stuck up for me, too. For all the good it did.”

  “I’m no softie. What
ever that is.”

  “It was a compliment!”

  My first compliment from a guy and it sounds like an insult? I say, thinking my way, “Maybe, underneath, you’re one as well. You weren’t one bit mean today.”

  He wriggles his shoulders, like I’m sitting on them and he wants me gone. Like I’m the dumbest girl he ever came across. I walk with him as he wheels his bike around the corner, neither of us saying a word. When we’re out of sight of Abe’s place, I say, “See you.”

  He climbs on his bike and pedals away.

  No sense bawling. Doesn’t make you feel any better.

  I head up the slope, watching for rocks, ferns swishing my knees. Ghost could be back in the barn right now, sitting on the rafters in the loft. So why I am scrambling over roots and boulders in search of a cat who’ll run like a rabbit if he sees me?

  Like most of my questions, I can’t come up with an answer.

  Unless it’s because I’m a softie.

  It’s cooler in the trees. I circle behind Abe’s barn. The hens are clustered in their outdoor pen, and from inside I hear hammering.

  Ghost won’t go near the barn with Abe making that much racket.

  I walk deeper into the woods. I could do with a good gulp of iced tea right now; it feels like a lifetime ago, me and Davina sitting at her table.

  Abe’s face, the disappointment when he looked at me...how can I ever fix that?

  I zigzag, my eyes flitting every which way in search of a patch of white. When I’m out of earshot of the hammering, I start calling Ghost’s name, using my soft voice, the voice he’s used to.

  A flash of movement catches my eye.

  Rabbit.

  “Ghost,” I call, “Ghost, where are you?”

  The tops of the trees, the little gullies through the ferns and shrubs, the fallen trunks coated with moss, my eyes scout them all. I’m not wearing a watch. The sun’s angling through the trees. Four-thirty? Five? If I’m late for supper, Seal will worry.

  I’ve been climbing steady, and I’m pretty sure I’m in back of Ratchet. Maybe I should’ve gone to Gulley Cove first because Ghost used to live there.

  If Ghost has vanished, Travis and Prinny will blame me.

  I go faster, banging my knees on rocks, boughs slapping my face. The mosquitoes and blackflies are having a feast. I’m sweaty, thirsty, and tired, but it’s like I can’t stop from looking.

  And then I see it. A patch of white. Between two trees. Not moving.

  I rush forward, stoop, and push the boughs aside. Ghost. Ghost caught in a rabbit snare. Lying so still I’m sure he’s dead.

  With a whimper of distress, I lay my hand on his side. He gives this gasp, his eyes bulging. An old snare made of brass wire, rusty; whoever set it, must’ve forgotten it. With all my strength, I yank the little metal post out of the ground. Using one finger, I loosen the loop that’s cutting into Ghost’s fur.

  He shudders, his jaws gaping. After I loosen it some more, I ease it over his head. I pull off the shirt I’m wearing over my tank top, and wrap him in its soft folds. “It’s okay, Ghost, it’s okay. I’ll take you to the vet and you’ll be fine.”

  He’s shivering now, his jaws still wide. I hurry through the woods, holding him close to my chest, talking to him the whole time, like that’ll make him breathe normal.

  I can’t go to Abe’s, and Travis’s dad will still be at work. Maybe Davina is still home. If only I had my phone—I could text Lorne or Seal.

  I come out behind the houses in Ratchet, right by Prinny’s place. Her father has just turned into his driveway and he’s climbing out of his truck. Relief makes my head swim. Hurrying past the new swing, I call, “Mr. Murphy! Please, can you take me to the vet?”

  “Right now?” he says, scratching his head.

  “A cat from Abe’s barn, he got caught in a snare. Please…”

  He opens the passenger door and helps me in. Then he walks around the hood, moving fast for a big man, gets in, and backs out the driveway.

  “Thank you,” I say. “He’s not breathing right. I found him in the woods.”

  As he speeds up, I hold Ghost close. We’re nearly at the clinic before he speaks again. “Prinny was after tellin’ me you been mendin’ your ways.”

  “Prinny said that?”

  “I was right glad to hear it.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  We arrive at the clinic five minutes before closing time. It’s a different receptionist. She ushers us into a little room and Dr. Larkin, the vet, walks in fast, her red hair in a swirl around her head. I tell her my name and explain how I found Ghost. “He’s one of Travis’s feral cats. He lives in Abe’s barn.”

  “Travis and Ghost have both been here before,” she says, smiling at me.

  Her hands move swift as she examines Ghost. He’s breathing better now, although he’s still shivering.

  Gently she massages his chest. “Was he struggling when you found him?”

  “No. Lying still. Like he was terrified. Or dead.”

  “Smart cat. Smarter than a rabbit. The snare didn’t break his skin, so he couldn’t have struggled much—sometimes an animal who’s already been traumatized plays dead when there’s a new threat…I’ll give him a tranquilizer, to relax him. Will you take him home or back to the barn?”

  I can’t face Abe. “I’ll take him home. But he’s not very tame.”

  “I’ll loan you a cat cage. Keep him in one room for a few days, Sigrid, even though he’ll probably howl the place down. Then gradually give him the run of the house. Lots of petting, if he’ll let you, and good quality food.”

  Prinny’s father says, “I’ll pay the bill, and buy the food and litter…Sigrid can pay me back when she’s able.”

  My eyes fasten themselves on a glob of cat hair on the floor. I whisper, “That’s real nice of you, Mr. Murphy.”

  We’re about to leave, me horrified by how much one short visit to the vet costs, when Dr. Keating, Travis’s dad, strides in the door. He’s my doctor, and when I had an earache in February, he was as kind as could be.

  No cage in his hand, no cat tucked under his arm. He smiles at Dr. Larkin, the sort of smile I figure Seal’s giving Davina, and I remember the rumors I heard a while ago, that he and Dr. Larkin were dating. I can’t imagine Travis being anything but happy if he ends up with Dr. Larkin as his stepmom.

  We drive to Fiddlers Cove. Seal’s truck is parked in our driveway. My bike, which Tate stole, is lying on the lawn. So you could say she just borrowed it.

  It’s way past suppertime.

  Prinny’s father carries the food and kitty litter to the front door, which he pushes open. Seal rushes out of the kitchen. “Sigrid! Where have you been? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy—I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”

  By tomorrow the word will be out that Hud wrecked Abe’s garden and let the cow loose and me not doing one thing to stop him.

  Mr. Murphy nods at Seal, smiles at me, and off he goes.

  You better remember that smile...won’t be many coming your way from now on.

  Quickly I explain to Seal how I found Ghost behind Abe’s barn. I carry the cage into my bedroom. Seal brings a bowl of water, another bowl of cat pellets, and a big plastic pan that he fills with the litter. After I find an old blanket in the linen cupboard, I fold it to make a bed in the corner. Last, I open the latch on the cage.

  Ghost blinks at me sleepily. I stroke him, head to tail, head to tail, his fur silkier than I expected, and hear Seal leave the room, shutting the door real quiet. I stay put, stroking and talking as gentle as I can, hoping so deep that when the tranquilizer wears off, Ghost will remember how my voice sounds and how my hand feels.

  After a while, he falls asleep.

  I close my bedroom door and go into the kitchen.

  “Dinner’s dried up by now,” Seal says, and reaches for a spoon. “Lorne ate and left. He was worried, too, so I just called him to tell him you
’re okay.”

  It’s Monday. The day I was supposed to be home to feed my brother.

  Someone bangs on the door.

  I jump like I’m Ghost.

  Seal goes to the door. Abe says, “Your kid home, Seal? The girl?”

  I want to die. Right here and right now.

  Twenty-Seven

  to solve

  Feet dragging, I walk into the living room. Seal’s staring from me to Abe. “What’s up?” he says.

  My throat’s so dry I can’t talk. Through a haze of misery, I hear Abe say, “I owes you a big apology, Sigrid. You and your buddy, Hud.”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t him. It was them two girls, just like you said, and I’ll be goin’ there next.”

  “But how—”

  “Hud, didn’t he go straight to Travis’s place. Happens Travis saw two girls go past on bicycles. Recognized your bike. The girl on it, she had mud on her sneakers.”

  “Hud went to Travis’s?”

  “Next on, he and Travis went to Tate Cody’s place and stole her sneakers, the ones with the mud on. They—”

  “Stole them? How?”

  He cackles. “Sneakers were dryin’ on the step. Travis went up innocent as sunrise and tol’ Tate her friend Mel had fallen off her bike up the road a ways. The two of ’em took off to find Mel—Tate wearin’ sandals, Travis on his bike so he could make his getaway. Meantime, Hud snuck to the front door and done the stealin’.”

  Travis and Hud as a team? Hud hates Travis.

  “They brung the sneakers to my place,” Abe goes on, “and stuck ’em in the tracks in the garden. Perfect fit. Carrot tops and beet greens squashed in the soles. Travis was right angry I didn’t believe you. Hud didn’t say much but you could tell he wasn’t happy. Maybe he ain’t so bad after all. Sneakers are in the truck. Evidence.”

  I say, edgy-like, “So are you back to trusting me, Abe?”

  “I’m right sorry I accused Hud of wreckin’ my place and that I didn’t listen to you. But you gotta admit it looked bad.”

  I have to say it. “If it hadn’t been for me, Tate and Mel wouldn’t have gone there.”

  “Wasn’t you let Rosie out.”