“Joe came!” I sprinted over to him. I waved as he drove up the hill, and he waved back. I was excited to think he might be here to work. But even more important, I had to learn more about Wren.
He pulled up next to me and rolled down the window. “Being back in town yesterday was nice. Didn’t realize how much I’d missed it. But I need to find a way to convince people to trust me again.”
“And?” I asked.
“An idea exploded in my brain.” He made a fist and snapped it open. “If I get rid of my painting supplies, I can’t do any more paintings. So they’re packed up in my truck.”
“Genius!”
Joe was smiling widely. “Could you use my supplies here?”
“You bet. Let’s put it all inside.”
Joe parked the truck and started unloading his things, so I grabbed a few boxes too. “Can you tell me more about Wren with the freckles?” I asked as we hauled his stuff inside.
His color faded so quickly, I thought he was going to disappear. “Not much to say. Knew him from the orphanage.”
“Was he here the summer of 1971?”
He closed his eyes and nodded quickly. “Yeah, we were both graduating high school.”
I tried to keep my voice calm. “Did he know a girl with red hair, same color as mine?”
But before Joe could respond, Mr. Tyler marched over and pointed his finger at him. “What are you doing here? Yesterday was just an exception, so you could get this girl out of the tree.”
Joe said nothing.
Mr. Tyler crossed his arms. “We don’t want you here. My shed burned down after you left that doom painting. I lost everything inside it.”
Joe looked down and nodded.
Mr. Tyler’s words hurt my heart, and he wasn’t even talking about me. An anger swelled up inside me. I stood tall and proud like my ancestors, and put my hands on my hips. “He’s not causing any trouble. He’s trying to stop trouble. He’s donating his art supplies so he can’t make any more doom paintings.”
Mr. Tyler’s eyes darkened. “I can’t work on this if he’s here.”
I needed Joe here so he could tell me more about Wren. But I also didn’t like seeing him treated so badly. He didn’t create the doom paintings on purpose. None of what happened at the Finest was his fault—so why didn’t he have a right to work here if he wanted to? My heart pounded and I tipped up my chin. “Then I guess you’ll have to leave. Because Joe is staying.”
Mr. Tyler glared at me, then stomped off back to town, his color disappearing as he left.
People were staring at me. I swallowed hard, but I wasn’t going to let anyone who was going to be mean to Joe work here. No one on my family tree would stand for behavior like that. I imagined them all nodding in agreement as I put my hands on my hips and raised my voice. “If anyone else has a problem with Joe working here, you might as well leave now.”
Two people sorting through one of the piles dropped what they were holding and left. Another stepped off the porch and walked down the driveway, not looking our way. But with reluctant shrugs, the others stayed, and got back to what they were doing.
“People will never forgive me,” Joe said, holding two cans of paint.
“They will, once we have this place all fixed up. Especially if you help.” I grabbed another box. “Do you know what this place was even supposed to be? I keep hearing lots of different ideas.”
He headed inside and set down the cans. “I think the developers told people whatever they wanted to hear. Everybody had different ideas about what the most amazing tourist attraction would be.”
“So they never said for sure exactly what they were building?” No wonder I’d been hearing so many different ideas.
“Just that it would be the finest thing in all of North Carolina. I was supposed to use my truck to paint in the final word on that sign. But they never would tell me what the word was going to be,” Joe said as we walked into the building.
“I wonder if we’ll ever know.” I looked around the big front room. “Even though this place caused so much disappointment, I get an exciting feeling here. Was it always like that?”
“It was a special place,” he said.
“You said all the kids who stayed here could do special things. What was Wren’s talent?” I bit my bottom lip, wondering if I was asking too many questions.
It took a moment, but Joe’s smile returned. “He was a neat kid. He could paint a picture that looked so real, you’d swear it was a photograph. Never seen anything like it.”
“Wow.”
“Suppose that’s why we got along so well. I could paint pictures of people and places I’d never seen. Freaked some people out, but not Wren. He loved to watch me work. Since we both loved painting, we thought we’d start a business together someday.”
“Why didn’t you?” I asked, setting the box inside the building.
He walked outside onto the front porch and sighed.
I followed him.
“Wren and I got in a big fight, and we never talked again.”
“Never?” That seemed unbelievable. “What was the fight about?”
He shook his head and looked away. “Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you know where he is now? Is he an artist living in a big city?” My maybe-dad could be famous, I thought.
He crossed his arms and sighed. “I’m already uncomfortable working here. And I’m not going to be able to stay if you keep asking questions about Wren. It’s just too hard with the way things ended between us.”
“Okay.” I shut up ’cause I didn’t want him to leave. But there was so much I needed to know! How else could I learn more about Wren? “Did anyone else in town know him? Maybe I could ask around.”
He stared at me with cold eyes. “Do not ask people about Wren. Please, just leave the past in the past.”
I blinked a few times, not sure what he meant, or what to say.
“I’m going to sort all my stuff,” he told me, heading back inside.
I sighed, realizing I hadn’t gotten an answer to my most important question: Did Wren know a girl with red hair like mine?
Parker was across the yard, sitting against the fence, sorting through bolts and screws, and I plopped down next to him. But my mind was still turning over Joe’s warning words: Don’t ask about Wren. Why?
“Mr. Gaiser doesn’t know it, but he’s missing his keys again. He left them on the windowsill in the big front room of the Finest,” Parker said.
“I’ll let him know.”
And that’s when it hit me—the perfect idea. I didn’t have to ask around about Wren. I should try to find him. And I knew how. At least, I thought I knew who could. I took a deep breath. I’d never asked Parker to find me anything before, and this was a big thing to ask for. But I figured Mama’s rule about not asking for help didn’t apply to Parker since he was my brother. And especially since I was in charge and this is what we needed to do. “Can you find missing people?”
He scratched his nose. “Never have before.”
“You need to find Wren.”
“I don’t try to find missing things, Penny. I just know about them when the time is right.” He tossed a bolt into a pile.
“Well, you’ve got to at least try. I think there’s a real good chance Wren is our dad,” I said. “Maybe he’d want to take us in.”
He wouldn’t look at me. “Don’t want to.”
I practically toppled over in surprise. “What? You don’t want to know who our dad is?”
“If he wanted us, he’d be around. We’re not supposed to beg; Mama said so in her letter.” He dropped a handful of bolts onto the ground. “Sure wish she left me a letter so I could boss you around.”
I groaned. “I don’t boss. I just know what to do. Besides, Mama told me everything we need to know. She was probably too weak to write another whole letter.”
Parker bit his lip and nodded. “I suppose.”
“We don’t know why our dad wa
sn’t around. If we find him, we can ask him. That’s why I need you to try.”
He said nothing.
Oh, this was frustrating. “We’re not going to ask him to take us in. But maybe he would just want to.”
“I don’t want to find him.”
“Parker! I’m in charge and I’m telling you to try and find him.”
He stood and glared at me. “No.” He walked away.
No? Parker always listened to me. I couldn’t believe it! I got up to chase after him, but before I could, I saw Miss Meriwether coming my way, wearing her business suit and high heels.
She did not look like she was ready to pick up a paintbrush and start working. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks were red. Her voice trembled. “What in the world are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 12
I brushed off my hands and made myself smile. “Hello, Mayor. Sure is coming along, isn’t it?”
She quickly blinked her eyes a few times. “I thought you were joking around when you said you were going to fix up the Finest. You’re just a kid.”
“True, but I’m not one to joke, ma’am. And you said I could.”
“I was being sarcastic,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t know that. But we got started, and it looks great so far.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t a good idea.”
I crossed my arms, frustrated at yet another person telling me this was a bad idea. “Why?”
She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “We had our hopes destroyed before. I don’t know what will happen to this town if our dreams are crushed again.” She closed her eyes. “It’s my job to protect the people here, and I let them down. I should’ve known the investors were scam artists.”
My heart pounded. Miss Meriwether couldn’t stop our work on the Finest now. She couldn’t. How would we get back on the map? Whether that was going to bring Wren home or bring some new family to town that wanted us, I didn’t know. I just knew the Finest had to reopen. And it was important for other people, too. All these people who were finding their glow again. I couldn’t let her stop us.
She stared at me, and I stared back at her. I tried to imagine all the amazing people on my family tree standing beside me, cheering me on. I closed my eyes and felt them around me. “But what can folks lose this time?” I opened my eyes and looked at her. “They’re not giving money. Just their time, because they want to. What if this works out? What if we turn it into something new and sell it?”
“I’m sorry, but no.” Miss Meriwether cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Stop your work, everyone. Please stop your work.”
People paused, and a few walked toward her. “What’s going on?” Mr. Smith asked.
“Penny was mistaken when she thought I said she could work on the Finest,” Miss Meriwether said.
Mr. Smith scratched his head. “I was skeptical at first too, but things are coming along nicely. Lots of people are just showing up and helping out without being asked.”
“I’m not willing to see this town let down again.” Miss Meriwether shook her head.
Mr. Gaiser said, “I’d really like to see this become something again. Please.”
I felt the power of hope and determination from my family swelling behind me. What were the right words to fix this? “If you shut this down, we might never get all these people this excited about something again.” I thought about peaceful protestor Mahatma Gandhi. Yep, he was the one I needed from my tree. I widened my stance and tipped up my chin. “I’m related to the great Mahatma Gandhi. He fought for India’s independence from the British Empire. He led protests and marches. Sometimes he fasted—for weeks! I’d do it, Miss Meriwether. Do you want me to lead all these folks in protests? Do you want us to stop eating?” I’m the descendant of an amazing leader.
She sighed and opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then raised an eyebrow. “You’re related to Gandhi?”
I paused. “He’s on my family tree.”
She pressed her lips together. “I just hate seeing people get their hopes dashed.”
“Could people feel any worse than they do now?” I asked. “Opening this place could get us back on the map, and then who knows all the wonderful things that could happen.”
Joe wandered over.
Miss Meriwether looked at him like he was a ghost. “Joe Clark?” she whispered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He studied the ground. “Never thought I’d come anywhere near this place. But it feels good to be making it something special again. To make things right after so long. Please let us keep working.”
She watched people scurrying around the site. “I haven’t seen so many folks from town in the same spot in years. And they seem so … energized.” She let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped. “I guess since so many of you are interested in doing this, you may carry on. I’ll make sure our code enforcers take a look at the building to be sure all the electrical and plumbing is working, and that we have the proper paperwork in place for a sale. I suppose it won’t hurt to spruce it up. But I can’t promise we’re going to be able to sell this to anyone.”
“Thanks!” I knew I’d change her mind—with a little help from my family tree.
“I’ll be checking in each day,” she said, before walking away down the driveway.
Joe clapped his hands together. “Wonderful. I was just coming up with plans for a tree house.”
“Wow!” This project was growing like I’d never imagined.
“The kids at the orphanage always wanted one.” Joe looked up at the trees with his hands on his hips, smiling. “Wren and I used to talk about building one …” He stopped abruptly. “I’m going to draw up some plans. I know just the tree I’m going to use, too.”
He looked happier than I’d ever seen him. Seemed like a bad moment to pester him about Wren and ruin the mood, so I kept my lips sealed. But I still had some time for questions, now that Joe had a big project bringing him back here every day.
Mr. Carlson walked up the driveway and stopped, looking over the place, nodding. He saw me, smiled, and walked up to me. “This place is looking great.”
“Hi! What are you doing here?” I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that Mary died right in front of this place, but I didn’t want his smile to disappear ’cause of me bringing up such a sadness.
“Curiosity got the best of me.” He walked toward a pile of big metal pieces and chuckled. “You could make some big tin can critters out of these things.”
He was right—the pile of junk was filled with possibilities. I could see them taking shape in my mind. My head pounded with ideas for the old paint cans and rusted tools lying around. Things started to wiggle and wobble. “You could help me. We could have a giant sculpture exhibit out here.”
“Sure.” Mr. Carlson smiled and smacked his hands together. “This is going to be wonderful.”
“We’re going to make something amazing, I just know it.” I lugged out a big silver trash can with a lid. A smaller trash can made a great head. I circled the pile, looking for something else that stood out. Two rakes caught my eye, the big wide kind you use for leaves. I grabbed them both. Their poles were broken, but I didn’t need those. The metal part would make amazing wings. “I can make an angel!”
Mr. Carlson held up a tire rim. “Here’s the halo.”
I gathered a pile of other things I’d need to put it together, then stood back to survey it. “I don’t think glue is going to work on this.”
Mr. Carlson rubbed his chin. “No, you’ll need to weld these pieces together. Mr. Gaiser knows how to do that.”
“I’ll find him!” I went into the building. “Mr. Gaiser?”
“Upstairs!”
I jogged up the stairs and found him in one of the rooms. “Someone was smart enough to cover all these windows with wood,” he said. “They’re in perfect shape. I just need to get my ladder and pull the boards off outside.”
“I’m sure Joe wou
ld let you use his bucket truck.”
Mr. Gaiser grumbled under his breath, “That’s not necessary.”
I put my hands on my hips, sick of this nonsense. “Joe brought all his painting gear here, so he can’t make doom paintings anymore.”
A bushy eyebrow poked up over one of his eyes. “I think it’s bad luck, him even being here. Not so sure I feel comfortable working with him around.”
This was ridiculous. Mr. Tyler left the project because of Joe, and now I was going to lose Mr. Gaiser, too? I couldn’t risk that. He knew how to do so many helpful things. So I thought about the folks on my family tree and realized I’d have to add a new branch for a real good peacemaker. But who?
I snapped my fingers. King Kamehameha. I remembered reading how he united all the warring clans of the Hawaiian Islands, became a king, and Hawaii was officially established. There was a legend that whoever could move the giant Naha Stone would become the islands’ greatest king. Kamehameha flipped that rock over when he was fourteen. If someone on my family tree could do all that, then, lordy, I could certainly get a few angry folks to get along. I am the descendant of a great king!
I took on a serious tone. “Mr. Gaiser, Joe is here helping, just like everyone else. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, and he’s not bad luck. But I won’t stand for people being unkind to him. You’re a good person, Mr. Gaiser. I know you won’t be mean.”
He frowned and scratched his head. “I suppose I’m not mean. I’ll just steer clear of him.”
It wasn’t the best answer, but it would do. For now. “Thank you.”
“I was skeptical of your work here at first, but I really hope bringing this building back to life will bring business to town,” Mr. Gaiser mused. “I’d love to see some other projects spring up. No one’s bought materials from my store to do any renovations or put up new homes or sheds in years. Imagine everyone ’round here finding hope again.”
“It would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? Now, I’m making a giant tin can critter, and I don’t think the glue will hold it. Can you weld it? I’ve got plenty to trade for in my cart.”
“Sure can. I’ll bring the stuff tomorrow. My wife’s coming then, too. She always thought this place was going to be a botanical garden. Told me she wants to plant some flowers.”
Back on the Map Page 8
