“Wake up, guys. This is our last big ski day.” He gave Jason’s bunk a friendly little nudge, then scooted closer to him. “Listen, man, thanks for all your help lately. And for kind of giving Alex a boost. Know what I mean?” He shot the blond boy a grateful look.
The boys seemed restless as they crowded their way into the long line outside the cafeteria. Bucky cast an anxious eye toward the darkened sky.
“Think it’s really going to rain?” Dan came over and gave his fellow counselor a healthy clap between the shoulder blades.
“Well, hey, Mr. Litton, how you doin’?” Bucky forced a grin as he used the formal greeting on his friend. “Nah, it wouldn’t dare rain on a Friday. Our last day of skiing? No way.” He turned toward the knot of campers. “Right, Jason?”
“No way.”
“‘Course, Jason’s already mastered two skis, one ski, the works. I don’t know what else there is for him to try. Skiing barefoot, maybe?”
“I’ll do it.” Jason received a high five from Gordie as the boys trooped into the dining room.
Bucky picked up a plateful of tater tots and sat down next to Alex. “Are you going to work on your leather project again?”
“I don’t know.” The boy hesitated. “Can I just stay with you instead?”
“Sure.” Something tugged at Bucky’s heart.
Just as he headed toward the lake with several of the campers, Renee Carpenter flagged him down. “Joe can’t make it here until about 3:00,” she told him. “He had one more meeting that he just couldn’t get out of.”
Bucky thought hard. “But you told him about and everything?”
“Uh huh. He said to just hang on tight until he gets back.”
“OK.” Worried, he shook his head. “You figure that Social Services outfit will come here and take him?”
“I imagine so.” She saw the pain in his face. “I know how you feel about him, Bucky. But if one of his parents is hurting him, they’re equipped to deal with that.”
“I know. It sure is a sad deal, though.”
The clouds overhead seemed to grow darker as the morning wore on, but Bucky’s prediction held true. The rain stayed away, as the campers took their final ski rides.
“How about you, Alex?” Bucky put his arm around the shivering boat passenger. “One last ride for the history books?”
“Huh uh.” Alex shook his head with a wan smile.
“Gonna quit while you’re ahead?” Bucky grinned at him, deciding not to press the matter.
Just before lunch Nancy came over to where Bucky was helping one of the girls get her skis on. “You have a visitor,” she told him.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. One of the kids told me. Some lady.”
For a moment an image of Tracy flickered in his mind. Could the redhead have stopped by for a second visit? “OK. I’m coming.” He finished assisting the skier and gave David a go - ahead whistle, watching briefly as the camper executed a decent start. Gathering up his tote bag, he toweled off and shook water out of his close - cropped hair. “Where is she?”
“Right up at the office. That big white car.”
That isn’t Tracy. Carefully picking his way through a crowd of kids, he walked up the dirt road to the main office. Renee was waiting for him.
“Bucky, this is Mrs. Rickard. Alex’s mother.”
Involuntarily Bucky sucked in his breath. The woman standing before him was young - looking, maybe thirty or a little more. Friendly smile. She had on a short skirt and cotton T-shirt, with medium-length blond hair. “I, uh . . . hi.” He stepped forward and offered his hand.
She shook it tentatively. “I understand you’ve been Alex’s counselor this week.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Was he any trouble?”
His mind raced. How much should I be telling her? “No, not really,” he managed. “He’s a little shy.”
The woman glanced over at Renee. “Well, Social Services called me this morning and let me know they had finally found him.” She clucked impatiently. “I mean, I can’t believe Stan would take him and dump him off at a place like this.” She gestured toward the camp. “After everything else he’d done to him.”
Chewing on his lip, Bucky thought hard. The woman certainly didn’t look like a monster. “Did Social Services say what they were going to do?”
Mrs. Rickard dug in her handbag for a tube of lipstick, which she applied generously before responding. “Well, they’ve already got Stan locked up. I guess they told you that already. And we have to file some papers Monday morning. About the kidnapping and everything.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I have to decide whether to file felony charges or just what. But they said to go ahead and pick up Alex whenever I wanted to, and that after the weekend they’d proceed with the rest of it.”
The camp director’s wife frowned. “I don’t know . . .” Her voice betrayed uncertainty as she glanced toward Bucky. “My husband’s not here and . . .”
“That’s not a problem, is it?” The woman snapped her purse shut. “I’m sure he had a nice time here and everything, but after all he’s been through, I think he should just come home.”
“Just a minute.” Bucky cleared his throat. “I . . .” He could feel his heart pounding. “I don’t think Alex should leave.”
“Why not?” The mother cast a disapproving glance at him.
Bucky tried to fight back the cold gnawing of fear. “He . . . he was signed in here by his dad. Not you. We don’t have the right to release him . . . with this business still up in the air.”
“What business? I told you. His father’s in prison. Case closed.”
Somehow Bucky forced himself to stand a little bit taller. “Alex told us it was you who hurt him,” he said simply. “Not his dad.” He glanced toward Renee. “I don’t think we should let him go home.”
There was a long ragged silence. “Now look,” Mrs. Rickard bristled. For the first time her voice had an edge to it. “Yeah, you know what? I heard that one already. I knew Stan would try something like this.” She muttered an oath under her breath. “And after all that poor kid’s been through, he goes and plays a mind game like that on him.” She turned to Renee. “I’m telling you, Social Services told me he was up here, they told me to pick him up, and that any kind of . . . psychology evaluating – they’d start with it on Monday.” She took a breath. “Now I’m really going to insist that you go get Alex. Right now.”
The three of them stood there facing each other. Bucky breathed a prayer. Please, God . . .
“I wish Joe were here,” Rene muttered.
“Who’s that?”
“My husband.” Mrs. Carpenter faced the younger woman. “I mean, I understand how you feel. Still, Alex has been in our care all week. And I don’t know about . . .”
“Are you going to get my son, or do I have to make a phone call and have the police come up here?” The woman’s tentative friendliness was long gone.
Finally Renee nodded. “OK.” She turned to Bucky. “You better go get him.”
“But . . .” A lump came into his throat. “I don’t think we should . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
Renee turned to Alex’s mother. “You can wait in the office if you want to.”
The woman stiffened. “No thanks.” She went over to her car and climbed into the front seat, looking back at Renee with disdain.
“Go get him.” Renee turned back to Bucky.
“She ain’t takin’ him.” Anger tinged his voice.
“We’ll figure that out later. But she at least has a right to see him.”
He made his way back down the hill, a cold fury still building up inside him. Down at the dock he scanned the last few bathers for the dark-haired boy.
“Where’s Alex?” He beckoned David closer.
“Which one’s that?”
“You know. Alex. The kid who skied all hunched over.”
“Haven’t seen him for a while.”
> With a sigh, he turned away and jogged back up hill, veering to the right toward the cabins. Inside the shower room he found Jason. “You guys seen Alex? Is he in the cabin?”
The blond boy shook his head. “Huh uh.”
“Where is he, then?”
Jason brushed some mud away from his swimming trunks. “He was standing on the dock just watching everybody ski right after you left. Then he looked up and saw that white car. All of a sudden he jumped down off the dock and went running off.”
“What?”
“Yeah,” Gordie chimed in, nodding. “He kind of, you know, was making that kind of sound. Not really crying, but . . . you know?”
A fresh wave of fear washed over Bucky. “Where’d he go, you guys?”
“We don’t know.” The boys looked at each other, then back at Bucky. “Is he in trouble or anything?”
He cast an anxious glance at his watch. Where is he? Bucky trotted over to the cabin. Empty. In the dining room the rest of his group of boys were already in line next to Dan’s kids. He went up to the stocky counselor. “Have you seen Alex?”
“Huh uh.” Dan’s cheerful face sobered. “Why?”
Bucky lowered his voice. “His mom’s here. Wants to take him.”
“What? No way.”
“I know it. She says it’s the dad who did it, but . . .” He looked around the cafeteria. “I don’t believe her.”
“But where’s the kid?”
“I don’t know. My guys say he saw his mom’s car. Maybe, anyway. And just took off.”
“See? That proves it’s her.” A defiant flush began to creep into Dan’s cheeks as well. “Or else why would he run away?”
“I don’t know.” By now Bucky’s mind was swirling with doubts. “Maybe it’s like she said. A dad gets his kid off by himself and talks him into something that just isn’t so. He just kind of hypnotized him or something, maybe.” His voice lacked conviction.
Dan raised both hands in a futile gesture. “Well, sorry, man. He’s not in here anyplace. You want me to watch your guys for a little bit?”
“Yeah.” Bucky shook his head. “Sorry. I know you’ve been covering for me a lot.”
“Hey, it’s OK. This is important.”
Worriedly Bucky trotted back toward the front office, instinctively slowing his pace as he went. Mrs. Rickard, still in her white car, opened the door and eased herself partway out, but remained seated. “Well?”
“I . . .” He gulped. “I hate to say this.” He looked over at Renee, who had just come out of the office. “I can’t find him.”
“What?”
“I was down at the dock and he wasn’t there. I checked the shower room and the cabin and the dining room.” He carefully omitted the part about Alex seeing her car. “I don’t know where he went.”
The boy’s mother stood up and slammed her car door shut. “Listen,” she snapped, “you may be in the business of hiding kids up here. But you’re not going to get away with this. Now I told you to get him, and I mean it. Enough fooling around!” She glanced angrily at her wristwatch.
“I can’t find him!” Despite his anger, Bucky’s voice had a pleading quality. “I’m telling you the truth!”
“Do you have any idea where he is?” the director’s wife interrupted.
“No!” He turned to her. “He’s just . . . gone.” Stepping closer to Renee, he whispered, “Two of my boys told me he saw his mom’s car and took off running.” Unfortunately Mrs. Rickard heard the exchange.
“Look, I’ve had enough of you people. I’m going to call the police.” Snatching up her purse, she fumbled in it, looking for her cell phone.
“Bucky! Please!” Renee clutched at his arm. “Think! Don’t you have any idea at all where Alex is?” Her voice trembled.
“I don’t know.” He forced himself to remember back through the week. Memories of the scared little camper flooded his mind. The attempts at skiing. Campfire. His afternoon working on crafts. Last night’s nightmare. The boys’ hike along the lake.
Suddenly he stopped. “I think I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter Twelve: Who’s Telling the Truth?
The first drops of rain started to fall as Bucky hurried along the trail that followed the edge of the lake. Conflicting emotions pounded at him as he carefully stepped around the puddles beginning to form among the rocks.
How could anybody hurt a kid like Alex? The pain of child abuse was such a mystery, he thought to himself, but that was the power of sin. It could take even a mother’s best instincts and twist them into something evil. Or a father’s, he reminded himself with a sigh. He still didn’t know for sure.
As he approached the secret hiding spot the boys had discovered earlier, he called out. “Alex? Are you here?” No answer.
At the entrance to the cavity he climbed up to one of the higher rocks and peered into the darkness. “Alex?”
Even with the wind blowing, he could hear the faint sobs coming from inside. “Are you OK?” He let himself down into the little grotto. “Man, I’m glad I found you.”
“She’s here, isn’t she?” As Alex looked up at him, Bucky could see even in the dim light that his eyes were red from crying.
“Your mom?” He nodded. “Yes, she is.”
The boy said nothing. Bucky could almost feel Alex’s trembling gasps.
“She wants to see you, Alex.” He tried to keep his voice even, hoping for some kind of a clue.
“No.” It was more of a wail than a protest. “No, Mr. Stone. Don’t make me.”
Bucky eased over until he was right next to him. “Alex, how come you don’t want to see your mom?”
“I told you. She hit me lots of times.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t your dad?”
“No! I told you!”
His counselor took a deep breath. “Alex,” he began, “sometimes kids decide they need to protect a parent who made a bad mistake. Or sometimes a dad will hurt his own boy or girl – and then tell them to tell others that it was the mom or somebody else.” He paused. “Is that what happened?”
“No!” For the first time a spark of protest appeared in Alex’s dark eyes, “It was my mom who hurt me! Not my dad! He came to get me.”
Bucky digested this. It all seemed to add up . . . but something still nagged at him. Lord, help me to know what I ought to do.
He shifted his position so that he could look into the boy’s eyes. “Listen to me, Alex,” he said softly. “Do you remember the story I told you the other night? About the army officer who told the truth even though he knew what might happen to him?”
“Uh huh.”
Brushing the boy’s wet hair out of his eyes, Bucky said, “Right now is probably the most important moment of your life.” He took a breath. “I need for you to tell me the absolute truth right now. No matter what anybody else told you to say. The truth, Alex.”
A long pause.
“I mean, right now I need to know exactly what happened. And, Alex, I trust you. I believe that God will help you to tell me the truth. OK? I’m putting my faith in you.”
Alex’s shakes slowly began to subside. “You are?”
“That’s right.” Bucky bowed his head for a moment of silent prayer, and then looked at the boy again. “Alex, I want you to tell me for the last time. Who is it that hurt you?”
“My mom.” Alex met his gaze without blinking. “Mr. Stone, it was my mom.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” Slowly he climbed to his feet.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.” He reached down and took Alex by the hand. “And you’re coming with me.”
“No! I don’t want to go with my mom!”
Putting his arm around the boy, Bucky lifted him up to the entrance of the rocky hiding place. “You don’t have to worry,” he told him. “I won’t let your mom take you anywhere.”
As they made their way through the gray drizzle back to camp, Bucky felt a slowly returning peace. Now that he really had the
honest truth in his possession, a quiet courage began to replace his earlier anger. Pausing at Dan’s cabin, he knocked on the door. “Litton? You in here?”
A moment later Dan appeared. “What’s up?” He held out a hand to feel the steady rain. “We can’t play ball in this slop.”
“I want you to keep Alex with you for a few minutes.” Bucky gave the child a little pat on the shoulder. “Just until I take care of some things.”
“Sure.” Dan’s face softened. “Come on in, Alex We’re just playing a game of catch with one of Rodney’s tennis shoes.” He laughed. “Until the rain stops.”
Bucky turned and went up the path toward the office. Mrs. Rickard was standing by herself at the doorway to the administration area. Has she called the police? he wondered.
“Where’s my son?” She put her handbag into the passenger side of the car and began to walk toward him. “Did you find him?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I did.” Then he stood motionless, looking at her.
“Well, where is he? I’ve waited for you people long enough.”
“One of my friends is looking after him.” Keep it calm.
She snapped an epithet. “Get him! I’m not going to stand here any longer.”
Slowly Bucky folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not going to let you take him.”
The quiet remark seemed to create what he would later remember as a silent volcano. Mrs. Rickard began to flush angrily, her mouth working without any sound coming out. Finally she found her voice. “What? What do you mean, you’re not going to let me? Just who do you think you are, you little . . .” She strode toward him, her cheeks red with indignation. “I told you I was going to call the police, didn’t I?”
“But you didn’t call them, did you?” Bucky felt a measure of controlled emotion, of righteous anger that this mother could have caused such hurt. He stood up to his full six - foot - four and looked down at her. “You didn’t call them. And now I know why. Because you’re guilty, lady.”
“What do you mean?”
“You did it to him,” he said more in sorrow than in anger. “It was you all along. Alex just told me again. And I know he’s telling the truth.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 80
