by Linda Benson
Swede’s footsteps are suddenly at the front door. “I hear there’s a couple of good-looking women live here!” he hollers through the screen, without even knocking.
A slow blush spreads up Aunt Trudy’s face.
“What have you two gals got planned for tonight? Anything special?”
Aunt Trudy and I exchange glances.
“’Cause I’ve got two boxes of red and gold sparklers here,” Swede says, “with Olive’s name on them. That is, if she knows how to use them.”
Aunt Trudy whispers to me. “You wanted a celebration, hon. I believe it just arrived.” She walks to the screen door and holds it wide open. “Come on in, then, you old hayseed.”
Swede hesitates for a moment at the doorstep. “Now Trudy. You’re not gonna get upset at me, are you? And tell me these little sparklers are going to scare all the animals?”
He looks over at me and winks.
Sparklers are for little kids, I think, but at least I’ll have something to do tonight.
20-David
July already feels like a wasted month. It’s like halfway through already, and it’s rained or drizzled for practically the entire time. So much for summer.
I hear the weather man talking as I walk past my mother, curled up on the couch with the evening news on. “This is why Washington is called the Evergreen State,” he laughs, pointing to a radar screen of almost total green. “Rain showers to continue off and on for the next week.” He acts as if this lousy weather is a huge joke. “Look on the bright side,” the guy says. “The month of August should be drier than usual.”
Since the Fourth of July, my parents haven’t once mentioned the fire in the barn. It’s been about two weeks now, and hopefully everything will just blow over. I haven’t heard from James or Sherman at all. Maybe they are keeping a low profile.
But James finally rings me, on a rainy afternoon toward the end of the week. “This weather totally sucks—big time,” he says.
“Yep.”
“My parents are going up to the lake the second weekend of August. It should be sunny by then, for sure. You wanna come with us?”
“I don’t think I can. We’re going to be gone during the middle of August. Dad has us booked into a condo on Maui for, like, two weeks. Just me and the folks for fourteen whole days. Oh joy.”
James chortles. “Now that sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
“Yeah. I can hardly wait—not. And when we get home, there’s only gonna be one week until school starts.”
“Oh, I am totally sorry,” he says. “Yes—Maui. Your life doth truly suck. Don’t forget to send me a postcard, like from Waikiki.”
“Waikiki’s not even on Maui, Dunce head. It’s on Oahu.”
“Well, ex-cuse me! I’m not an expert on the islands of Hawaii. Never been there—don’t care if I ever go. Hey, did your parents ever ask you anything?”
I know where he’s going with this, but I don’t want to bite.
“You know, about that day?” he says.
“My dad asked me if we saw anything. That’s all.”
“Mine didn’t even do that. They just said they were really glad I got home safely. Kind of a close one, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess.” I wish James would just drop the subject. But he doesn’t.
“So have you heard from Sherman?”
“No. Not once. I heard my parents say that they flew back East somewhere for a family reunion. His dad came by to get his bike, though. How come you never picked up yours?” Not that I want him to. For some reason, I don’t even want to see James.
“I don’t really need it,” says James. “I’ve got another one, and it was kind of a junker, anyway.”
I shake my head, thinking about his bike still parked behind the bushes at the side of our house. Maybe I should just put it out with the garbage.
“So when does Sherman turn sixteen?” asks James. “He should be getting his new car pretty soon, right? That’ll be sweet.”
“I don’t know. The end of summer, or this fall sometime. But nobody can ride with him, anyway, for a while. You can’t take friends in the car with you until you’ve had your driver’s license for like, six months or something.”
“That’s a stupid law,” says James.
“My dad says a lot of kids get in wrecks, riding around with their friends. But unless we got pulled over, how would they even know how old the person driving is?”
“Exactly.” James laughs under his breath. “We could probably talk Shermie into taking us somewhere, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not a good idea, though.”
Talking to James makes me feel uncomfortable. I try to shake the feeling off after I hang up. I flip through a few channels on the television in my room, but nothing good is on. I look out the window at the sky. It’s only drizzling—not really full-fledged rain like we’ll have this winter. I decide to go for a run. If I’m going to go out for cross-country, I gotta start getting in shape. Besides, it’s warm outside, even kind of muggy.
“Hey, Mom,” I holler down the stairs. She’s in her usual spot, curled up on the white leather couch in front of our big flat-screen television. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“Running. Remember what Dad said. I need to get into a lot of sports. It’ll look good on my application for the Academy.”
“In this rain?”
“It’s not raining much. Besides, I think the sun’s trying to come out.” I jog in place, eager to be out the door.
“Okay, dear. Be careful.” She says the words automatically, her eyes glued to the television. The phone rings again, just as I reach the door, and she answers. “David, it’s for you. It’s James.”
Again? I rush back into the living room and grab the cordless phone from my mother.
“What?” I ask.
“The fire chief was just here.”
A shiver runs up my back. I walk out the front door, bringing the phone with me and keeping my voice low. “What did he want?”
“He said they found a melted BB gun where the barn burned down. Under some tin.”
“Yeah, I heard that already. My dad told me. But why did he come to your house?”
James sounds panicked. “He was asking if I knew anyone that owned one like that.”
“So what did you say?”
“I don’t know, man. I can’t remember.” I can almost see James squirm. “I think I told him I used to have a BB gun like that. But I don’t know what happened to it.”
“You don’t know what happened to it? That sounds totally lame.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? Tell him I left it there? Yeah, right. Then he probably would have arrested me right on the spot.”
“Fire chiefs can’t arrest people,” I tell him. At least, I don’t think they can. “Besides,” I say, “it was an accident. It wasn’t like we planned to burn down that barn.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t tell anybody. Okay? That makes us look guilty or something.”
I shiver. I do feel sort of guilty. But mostly I’m feeling scared. If anyone finds Grant’s ring, it would prove I was there. I mean, it could be anywhere along the river, but it could also be at the barn. If someone finds out I was involved, there go my chances for the Air Force Academy. As well as my dad’s respect.
“Have you talked to Sherman?” I ask. “Did the fire chief go to his house?”
“Sherman’s whole family is gone, remember? Out of town. That’s why I’m calling you. So we can get our stories straight.”
Right. This is not looking good for the character development portion of my application for the AFA. “So what is our story?”
“Same one we told your mom. We were rafting on the river that day, but we didn’t see anything. Period.”
“Okay. Not a problem. I can do that.”
Probably lots of people own BB guns, I think, like the one James had. And like he said, it wasn’t like we pla
nned on burning down the barn. But somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Is the fire chief headed here next? I feel trapped, with no way out. For some reason I think about that yellow dog, and wish I could break away and escape.
21-Olive
“Is it ever going to quit raining?” I whine. “There is nothing to do.” I have read every book on Aunt Trudy’s shelves and played with all of the puppies until they fell asleep. There is nothing on television and I am bored out of my gourd.
“I’m sorry,” says Aunt Trudy. “It doesn’t usually rain this much in summer. Swede’s starting to call it The Summer That Ain’t.”
That sounds about right. “When are you going up to the animal shelter again? Maybe I can go with you.”
“Not till Thursday,” she says. “The weather man did say there might be a little clearing this afternoon. It’d be nice to see the sun for a change.”
I cock my head sideways and look out the window. Gray skies, dreary skies, dripping skies is all I see. “Can I go for a bike ride if the sun comes out?” As I say this, I picture Aunt Trudy’s ancient bike, sporting two flat tires, shoved into the corner of the carport. “What about Paintball and Shakespeare? Can we ride them?”
Aunt Trudy perks up at this. “I didn’t know you liked to ride horses, Olive.”
“I like riding,” I say. “I’ve just never done it much.” Like, practically never.
“Your mother used to like horses.” Aunt Trudy speaks softly, as if remembering. “That was her big dream in life, for a long time,” she says. “To have a horse of her own.”
“Really? She never said anything about it to me.”
“Well, sometimes life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it’s going to,” she sighs, looking out the window at the lingering clouds.
“Maybe that’s why she liked rodeos,” I say.
“Oh, I’m sure of it. All the girls in glittery outfits, and the cowboys, and the horses—lots of horses.”
I did go to a rodeo one time, down in California. Me, Mom and Pendleton. I remember the cowgirls waving at the crowd at they galloped their horses full speed around the arena. “So can we ride those ones out back? I mean, if it stops raining?”
“I don’t know too much about them, Olive. Except that they’re so old—in their twenties, I believe.”
“How old do horses live?”
“Oh, maybe twenty-five to thirty years, I suspect,” she says.
“Are they too old to ride?”
“I don’t know. They’re awfully thin. And we don’t have a saddle…”
“But are they trained?” I ask. “You know, to ride?”
“Well, one time Swede offered to see if they were broke to ride.”
I look at her, pleading.
“What?” she asks.
“Could you call him up?”
“Call Swede?”
“Well, why not? He seems nice.”
Aunt Trudy’s eyes get this little gleam in them, and I can almost picture her without any wrinkles, as a teenager. “Oh, I suppose. For you.”
She punches his number into the phone. “Swede?”
I can hear his voice booming through the receiver. “Trudy, my peacock is right here at home. He’s not bothering anybody. Dagnammit.”
“I’m not calling about your peacock, you old goat. I’m calling because Olive is bored and she’s asking about Paintball and Shakespeare.”
“The pensioners?”
Aunt Trudy looks over at me and rolls her eyes. “Yes. She wants to know if she could try riding them.”
“Well, now, don’t you girls go out and try messing with those horses by yourself. You don’t know anything at all about them. It’s quit raining here, and I could stand to get out of the house a bit myself. Let me go out back and rustle up some of my old horse equipment and I’ll be down there shortly. Just hang tight.”
Aunt Trudy sets the phone back in its cradle.
“I heard,” I tell her. “What should I wear?”
“You don’t have any cowboy boots, do you? That’s what you should wear.”
I shake my head. “I just have a pair of flip-flops and one pair of tennis shoes.”
“Oh my goodness.” She opens the front hall closet and a mess of things fall out. Two leaves for the dining room table, an umbrella, several winter jackets, and a plastic ice cooler. She roots around toward the back and emerges triumphant, holding a prize over her head.
“Look what I found.” She’s holding an ancient pair of suede, pointed-toe cowboy boots. “These might fit you.”
“Were they yours?”
“Oh yes. Everybody wore cowboy boots for a while. It was the style. Here, try them on, dear.”
I slip off my sneakers and pull them on. They’re a little bit loose, but they stay on my feet.
“The sun’s out,” Aunt Trudy says. “Let’s take some carrots out to those horses. Swede says he’ll be right over, and that man is never a minute late. The old coot.”
I clomp up and down the living room, trying out the boots, pretending I’m a real cowgirl.
22-David
Taking off for a run, I can’t get the conversation with James out of my head. Why would the fire chief talk to James? I mean, he’s been in trouble at least once before that I know of for swiping that shirt from Target. But still. Did somebody see us all in the raft and recognize James? If so, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out I was there, too. My mom’s car was parked at the bridge, but nobody else drove by that day except for Olive and her aunt. At least I don’t think so. I search my memory as I jog to the end of our paved driveway.
A tan sedan pulls into the end of River Crest Drive. I shiver, half expecting it to be the fire chief, or worse yet, the sheriff. I wonder how much trouble we’d be in if they could prove we were actually at the barn? The car slows as it goes past, but it is only Louise Barton, the woman who lives at the end of our cul-de-sac. She waves, and I let out my breath.
At the edge of our property, I think about Olive and the imaginary signs at the end of her driveway. Lost Animals Stop Here. What would a sign at the end of our driveway say?
The only thing I can picture is a large stone sign, with letters carved in the solid rock. Boys from this family join the military. And in smaller letters underneath. Unless they get in trouble. I gulp air and keep going.
I jog out to the main road, past the doctor’s unfinished house, and then the McDaniels’, feeling the rain prick my face. The downpour becomes steady, enough to plaster my T-shirt against my skin, but at least it’s not cold. When I get to the end of River Crest I have two choices. I can sprint to the left, cross the river and reach the two-lane highway that goes into town, or I can turn right and head uphill on Upper Ridge Road, which would give me a better workout. Without a moment’s hesitation I choose right, run past several hayfields with cows grazing the stubble, and start up the first big hill.
My stride slows with the incline but I try to keep a steady pace, inhaling the moisture into my lungs. I feel my pulse quicken as I reach the top of the first hill. The road narrows here, stretching in front of me like a challenge, up and down and around. I push myself to run faster, flying down the steep pavement and then rushing up again, tackling the next hill. I gasp for breath as the rain beats down but I make myself run faster, harder, to take my mind off thinking about the fire in the barn and the possible consequences if we get caught.
Near the top, the road begins to flatten out as it runs along the ridge. The hayfields give way to forest, and the big firs drip water from their soggy branches. I slosh through puddles and get thoroughly drenched as a pickup truck speeds by, throwing water in its wake.
I’ve probably come two miles and am feeling winded when the clouds suddenly part and sunlight drifts through. Off to the north, a huge double rainbow appears and I grin in spite of myself. I shake water out of my face and keep going.
Around one more bend, the road straightens again. I’m almost to Olive’s house.
Well, actually it’s her aunt’s house. I wonder if Olive’s even there? She didn’t say for sure how long she was staying.
I catch sight of movement up ahead in the gravel driveway. I keep my pace steady, and as I near the house, I see an old codger leading a pinto horse. Even from a hundred feet away I can tell that the horse is old, and he sways with every stride. Someone is riding the horse, and it looks like Olive, perched up on the saddle.
She lifts a hand to wave at me. I think it was a wave, anyway.
I wasn’t exactly running up this way to see Olive, but if she is waving, I can’t not say hello. It’d be rude. So I slow to a walk, rainwater and sweat still soaking my shirt, and head down the driveway. As I get close, I can see she’s wearing old cowboy boots with her jeans tucked inside. She’s got on a tight blue T-shirt that matches her eyes, and her blond hair is flowing loose. My heart beats hard against my chest, but it’s probably from running up the hill.
“Hey, I didn’t know you knew how to ride,” I say. That sounded lame, I think.
“Well, Swede says he thinks Paintball is gentle.” Olive’s holding on to the reins and grasping the saddle horn at the same time. “But I’m not sure about all this.”
I stop in my tracks, suddenly wishing I’d never come up this way at all.
Swede? How many guys named Swede could live in this neck of the woods?
“This is Swede Hanson,” says Olive, pointing to the man who holds the horse’s lead rope. “Our neighbor.”
A shudder runs through my body, and I’m suddenly completely tongue-tied. I feel like I cannot breathe. Standing in front of me is the man whose hay barn we accidentally burned down.
23-Olive
Why did I wave to David? I feel like a total idiot, sitting up here on Paintball holding onto the saddle horn while Swede leads me around like a baby. David probably thinks I’m a complete chicken.
David and Swede eyeball each other in a funny way.
“David…Tellington, is it?” Swede says.
Do they know each other? David never once responds to Swede’s question. His shirt is soaked and plastered against his chest. He looks totally nervous, like at any second he might take off running back down the road again.
