Cherry Ames Boxed Set 9-12

by Helen Wells

  “Take me and my kitten!” Katy stepped forward. “I’ll get the kitten—excuse me, Sue. I mean, after you take the birthday pictures, Mr. Purdy.”

  No one paid much attention to Katy. D. V. and some of the other boys crowded around, asking how the precision camera worked. Aunt Bet hoped aloud that some of today’s pictures could he used for the camp catalogue.

  “Mac!” Aunt Bet called, and waved to Mac in the Mess Hall. “Will you bring a birthday cake, please? Nice touch for the pictures, Mr. Purdy.”

  Several minutes passed. Mac did not come out with a birthday cake.

  “Where is he? Oh, bother,” said Aunt Bet. “Will someone go over and bring a cake?”

  “I’ll go,” said Cherry, before anyone else could.

  She ran. She was not a moment too soon. Bursting into the kitchen, she found Mac gathering up his jacket and work shoes, and Sophie railing at him.

  “You can’t quit now, Mac! We have to give the kids their supper! Can’t you wait half an hour? What’s got into you?”

  “I can’t wait,” Mac muttered. Then he saw Cherry.

  “I came for a cake,” she said.

  “You’ll—cake—? Thanks. Gee, thanks a lot.”

  “What’s going on here?” Sophie demanded.

  “I’d like to know, too, Mac,” said Cherry.

  He set down his things for an instant. “I—It’s like this, Miss Cherry. I don’t want you to think badly of me. I just got word, just today, to hurry back to the city. To New York. At lunch hour I asked Fred Epler to take me to the train. It just dawned on me that if I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my train. That’s how it is. You see, Miss Cherry?”

  “But what about collecting your pay?” Sophie asked. “Aren’t you going to say good-by to the Wrights? And the kids? Running out on us—”

  Mac and Cherry continued to look at each other, measuring each other.

  “Here comes Aunt Bet,” said Sophie with satisfaction. “With Mr. Purdy and Sue’s crowd. I’ll bet they’re going to take pictures at their table. Flashbulb pictures, I’ll bet.”

  Aunt Bet called, “Sophie! Mac! Come in and be in the picture, too!”

  Mac bolted out the back door. He was already halfway to the road when Aunt Bet and Purdy walked in, looking for him.

  “Mac Cook is running away,” Sophie blurted out to Aunt Bet. “Look! There he goes!”

  Cherry was watching Paul Purdy. He did not react at all to the name of Mac Cook, to her surprise. When he joined Aunt Bet to watch the running man with the thatch of yellow hair, Purdy still did not react.

  “Let him go,” Aunt Bet said with a sigh. “Transient help—most of them leave without notice. It’s happened to us so many times.”

  “But why is he running?” Purdy asked. He was genuinely puzzled.

  Cherry asked Aunt Bet in a low voice, “Did Mac do anything—out of order?”

  “No, he was a good worker, in fact quite wonderful with the children.”

  By now Mac had disappeared from sight. He had, Cherry noted, headed in the direction of the Eplers’ house. Perhaps there was a degree of truth in his story about hurrying to catch a train.

  An emergency—what emergency? Wasn’t the narrow squeak of meeting Purdy the real emergency? Cherry suspected that it was.

  About one thing Cherry was especially curious. Purdy had not recognized Mac by name or by appearance, at least not at a distance. Was that because Purdy had never met Mac? Or was it because Mac had dyed his hair and assumed another name?

  How very strange, if Purdy did not know there existed a man who was so urgently and nervously interested in him! Was that possible?

  It occurred to Cherry that she knew almost nothing about Purdy. Perhaps if she could learn a few facts about Purdy, they might very well shed light on the mystery of Mac Cook.

  “Except that I could hardly go spying on the camp’s good neighbor,” Cherry thought uncomfortably.

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Lesson for Katy

  IT WAS ALMOST MORE THAN THE MOUNTAINEERS COULD bear. After all the practice time spent learning woodcrafts and campfire cooking, it rained without letup on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday! Besides that, Katy and Mary Alice had not yet passed their tests. Until they did, no overnight hike for them.

  “Every week I’ve watched hikers set forth,” Mary Alice wailed, “and now when it’s our turn, I can’t—we can’t—go!”

  Their cabin loyally decided to wait a few days longer until Mary Alice and Katy caught up with the others’ skills. Jean Wheeler pointed out in her calm way that she would not lead them into half-wild country in a drenching rainstorm, anyway.

  Cherry felt as impatient as the Mountaineers, for this was the trip on which she was invited to go along. Dr. Lowell and Bob Wright had given her clearance from her job, charged against her time off.

  The rest of the campers were restless, too. Girls took turns making cookies until Sophie declared, “We have enough brownies on hand for next summer, too.” Many of the girls were worried about their gardens at the Model Farm in this downpour; their prize tomatoes and corn must be just ripe for picking. Mrs. Clemence telephoned to say their handyman was harvesting this crop for Blue Water, but that meant losing half the fun. In the crafts shops, during this rainy stretch, the campers produced a record for scratched, bruised, scorched, and scraped fingers. As Cherry cleansed and treated these, she wondered whether the injuries were not caused mostly by exasperation with the rain.

  The delay did give her a chance to observe some interesting things related—directly? indirectly?—to Mac Cook.

  Mac had disappeared on Saturday, August tenth, just before suppertime. Just after supper Cherry had been strolling along the road with two bunk mates and had seen Fred Epler in his jeep. She wondered how Fred could have driven Mac all the way to the railroad station and be back home in so short a time. Cherry had waved, but Fred Epler had merely waved back, and driven on. He hadn’t been so reticent earlier in the summer, it seemed to Cherry.

  Then, that night, Thunder Cliff counselors had brought their boys over for the square dance. Cherry was on duty that evening in the infirmary. Reed Champion came running up the hill to say hello.

  “Sorry you can’t come down and dance,” Reed had said.

  “I offered to stay here. Bob and Jan Lowell love to dance.”

  “Well, then, I think I’ll stick around and chat. What’s new at Blue Water?”

  “The interesting news—at least I think it’s interesting—is that Mac Cook quit his job today, without any warning at all.”

  Cherry told Reed what had happened. He listened, rubbing his chin.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “One of our campers was called home and I took the boy to the train. About five forty-five, same train as Mac must’ve wanted to catch. Matter of fact, it’s the only daily train to New York. But 1 didn’t see Mac at the station,” Reed said. “No, I’m certain I didn’t. I saw two elderly women board the train, and that’s all.”

  “Maybe Mac missed the train,” Cherry suggested. “Did you see Fred Epler’s jeep at the station?”

  “No, I didn’t. Didn’t see the jeep on the road, either—either going or coming. I would have, you know—we all use the same highway. But what do you find so interesting about Mac Cook? He’s just a nice average guy. Maybe slightly peculiar, but what of it?”

  Cherry made a sudden decision. “Reed,” she said, “I’m not sure he is just a ‘nice average guy.’ I can’t keep this bottled up any longer. I’ve got to tell someone. Listen—”

  Cherry told him what she knew and what she suspected about Mac Cook. When she finished, Reed shook his head.

  “It’s too deep for me. But if there’s anything I can do to help Bob—or you—in case this Cook fellow makes any trouble for you—”

  “Not so far.” Cherry had checked and found the rubber mask still in its sealed envelope in the camp safe.

  “I just don’t know what to think.” Reed glanced at his wrist watch and stood u
p hurriedly to leave. “Gosh, Cherry, I’m late. Excuse me? And don’t forget, I’m around if you need me.”

  “Thanks a lot, Reed. I’m glad to know that.”

  A third fragment of information turned up on Tuesday, when Cherry, plagued by questions of Mac Cook’s relationship to Purdy, visited Purdy himself. She dropped by the photographer’s place at lunch hour, when the rain had temporarily ceased.

  It was easy to find Mr. Purdy because there in the mud, fresh footprints of his rope-soled sandals led to his storage barn. Cherry heard sounds of hammering. He was standing outside the door of the barn.

  “Hello, Mr. Purdy! Have you a minute to spare for a Blue Water caller?”

  Paul Purdy turned around, hammer in hand.

  “Hello, Miss Nurse. I am just putting a stronger lock on my barn door, as you see.” Apparently he was still upset about the breaking-in incident. If he was annoyed at Cherry’s interruption, it showed only in his being more abrupt than usual. “What can I do for you?”

  “Perhaps you would advise me about the best way to use my camera,” she said, holding it out.

  It was an innocent ruse, and it did gain the photographer’s interest. After a few minutes’ talk about camera techniques, Purdy was in a better temper. Cherry thanked him, and ventured onto a less safe subject.

  “That looks like a good, strong lock you’re installing, Mr. Purdy.”

  “It had better be. It cost me enough. I’ve put on two other locks, ever since my barn was turned upside down. But they did not satisfy me. This lock is the best one made.”

  Cherry was puzzled. Three locks in the few weeks since the thief had broken in—and taken nothing, according to Mr. Purdy. Three locks, yet he had not bothered to call the police! Also, so far as Cherry could determine, Purdy still did not know that Mac Cook had been living in the vicinity. Or if Purdy knew about Mac Cook, was he indifferent? Cherry could not understand how this funny little man reasoned.

  Purdy did not look quite so funny and jolly as he resumed work on the new lock. He struck hammer blows with grim purpose. On the ground, Cherry noticed, was a box containing other locks, of a type suitable for the barn windows.

  “I’ve never been inside your fabulous barn, Mr. Purdy. The children seem to think it’s a treasure house.”

  “You are welcome to look in,” Purdy said, hammering away. “Just costumes and properties, and old negatives. They are not very valuable—not even valuable enough to insure—except to me. To me, they are my livelihood, you understand. It took me years to accumulate them, and just now—”

  “Yes?” Cherry encouraged.

  “Well, just now I cannot afford to buy new props,” Purdy said.

  That registered with Cherry. She had assumed, as did the other neighbors, that Purdy must be fairly prosperous since he owned this summer place and took a long vacation from his business. But he had just said that he was not well off “just now.” Still—

  “I imagine the cost of replacing the whole barn full of props would run into a large sum,” Cherry said. “If I may—?”

  She stepped into the dim barn. It was not a large place, but it was filled to overflowing with all sorts of curiosities: a suit of armor, a tambourine, dusty theatrical costumes, a dummy window and curtains, a flight of six carpeted steps, bunches of artificial flowers, painted backdrops, odd chairs. Mr. Purdy called to Cherry that from time to time he had had many actors and dancers and singers among his clientele, hence the theatrical props.

  “I can’t keep all this stuff in my studio. I bring it here, a few pieces at a time, in a friend’s station wagon.”

  “Well, thanks for letting me have a look,” said Cherry. “Now I know why the children are so fascinated.”

  Yet she had noted nothing in the barn which could explain why Mac Cook showed such a curious, evasive interest in Purdy.

  On Wednesday a hot sun shone. Leaves ceased to drip, the earth dried out. On Wednesday, furthermore, Katy and Mary Alice passed their skills tests. Now, said Jean Wheeler, finally and at last, the Mountaineers cabin could pack to start the next day on their overnight hike.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Sue to Cherry. “We’re all so happy! Get ready, Cherry.”

  “I will. I’m not taking much along.”

  While Cherry got out her sturdiest shoes and borrowed a mess kit Wednesday evening, she received running reports from the cabin across the path. The kitten, in their absence, would be cared for by the Dingdong Belles. Lil Baker was not going along; Jean Wheeler and Cherry would accompany the six girls. Sophie was setting aside food for them to pack at the last minute: eggs, butter, pancake mix, bacon, cocoa, salt and pepper, flour, corn, and potatoes.

  And Katy Osborn caused an uproar in her cabin by packing into her duffle bag extra shoes and a collapsible hammock—then found she could scarcely lift the duffle bag to her shoulder, much less walk with it. Cherry heard Katy snap:

  “Aren’t I trying?”

  “Yes, very!” Sue snapped back.

  Cherry thought of an old camp saying: “You never know a person until you have camped with her.”

  The next morning the weather was glorious and all six girls were in an angelic temper. After breakfast they lined up, packs on their backs, cooking equipment and blankets divided among them, their hatbrims pulled down against the sun. Cherry carried in her pack the first-aid kit and a small hatchet in a leather case. Jean Wheeler, with whistle and compass in her hand, took her place at the head of the line. The girls started off, the pride and envy of the camp, heading for mountain trails.

  The sun rose higher as they marched along, singing and joking. Having left the main road a half mile outside of Blue Water, and crossed Long Lake at its narrowest point by an old footbridge, they found themselves climbing in unexpectedly wild country. This land, Jean Wheeler explained, was too steep to farm and too rocky for grazing.

  It was beautiful here. Wild flowers grew among the rock ledges. At this height, the sky seemed bluer than usual. Cloud shadows floated across the band of girls who sometimes scrambled upward, sometimes followed a line of trees down to a shady brook. Sounds of a waterfall reached them.

  “I’m thirsty,” Katy said.

  “You’re suggestible,” Jean Wheeler said. “Only small sips of water out of your canteens, girls.”

  On a rocky plateau with a magnificent view, they stopped for lunch. The sandwiches tasted wonderful. Then Jean led them down to a stream where they splashed cool water on their faces and hands. Since this water had not been analyzed on earlier hikes, they did not drink any of it.

  During the afternoon, trails led them to sheer drops which took their breath away—through green glens and wild thickets. They were heading in the general direction of a shelter area, but exploring a new route to reach it. Jean Wheeler marked trees with the hatchet along the way.

  “That’s so we’ll find our trail back, tomorrow.”

  “Back!” said Mary Alice. “We aren’t even there yet. It’s funny how much heavier my pack has gotten.”

  Their pace grew slower, stops more frequent. Jean Wheeler encouraged them by pointing out a tiny log shack nestled in a fold of the hills.

  They reached this place at about four o’clock. The shelter turned out to be three-walled, not so tiny, a little lopsided. The Thunder Cliff boys who had built it had carved their initials and camp name on a center plank. Remains of earlier fires were evident. All the girls, even Katy and Mary Alice, who were the tiredest of the party, set down their packs and explored the camping area. Cherry and Jean Wheeler unpacked gear for supper.

  No one except Cherry bothered to investigate the shelter. It was there just in case of rain or cold; unfurnished, it offered only a fireplace area of stones and a few empty shelves. Empty? Cherry caught sight of something red and went to look on the shelf. She found a three-day-old local newspaper and a large red calico handkerchief, the kind farmers buy in general stores. It was freshly washed but unironed. For no particular reason, Cherry shoved the handkerch
ief into her slacks pocket.

  “Everybody come with me to the spring for a drink of water!” Jean called.

  After a drink, they returned to the shelter area, took off their shoes and socks, and had a good rest in the grass. The only girl with a blister beginning on her heel was Cherry herself. She applied antiseptic ointment and a Band-aid, and fell asleep.

  When they awoke—or rather, when Katy wakened them—the sun was rapidly sinking behind a mountain peak.

  “It’s a good thing Katy woke us,” Jean Wheeler said. “We have a great deal to do before we can get our supper—and it’s not a good idea to go stumbling through the woods by flashlight.”

  The group split up into teams. Their practice at Blue Water came in handy. Dee and Dot Smith, the twins, took buckets from inside the shelter and went to haul water for cooking and washing. Katy and Ding chose a site—a natural clearing on dry ground—and when Jean Wheeler approved, started digging with their heels a V-shaped slot for building a fire. Mary Alice hunted for flat stones to place there to hold in the heat. Meanwhile, Cherry and Sue had started into the forest to collect firewood.

  Shadows already lay among the twisted aisles of tree trunks. At the edge of the forest Cherry and Sue saw only green wood, which burns poorly; they pushed deeper into the woods in search of dead twigs and bark for kindling, and dry branches for a cooking fire. The hush was profound.

  “It’s scary in here,” Sue said to Cherry. Her voice sounded loud and thin.

  “Nothing to be scared of,” Cherry answered. “But let’s be quick and not linger.”

  They picked up wood quickly, without talking. Sue wandered off to one side. Cherry could not see her for a few minutes. Then she heard a sharp crackle and splintering, as if someone had tripped.

  “Sue! Did you fall?”

  “No. I thought you fell.”

  Cherry stood motionless. Sue, coming toward her, saw and stood still, too. Somewhere ahead of them, the underbrush stirred and snapped again.

  “An animal?” Sue whispered.