Little Sister

by MacDonald, Patricia

“It’ll be hard for you to see in there. You’ll have to be careful,” said Francie.

  “You’re the one who’s going to have to be careful,” he said.

  “Me? I thought you were going to get it.”

  Andrew bristled. “Hey, this was your idea. You saw him put it away. You know where to find it.”

  “But—”

  “But what?”

  “You’re the boy.”

  Andrew stared at her. “You say you want to run away. Are you ready to do what has to be done?”

  “I’m afraid,” said Francie. “Won’t you go? I’ll tell you right where the jar is.”

  “I have to drive the car. I can’t do everything.”

  Francie flopped back on the seat and stared at the dashboard. “Let’s forget it then,” she said.

  “All right,” said Andrew in a tight, angry voice. He started the engine. “Get out. Go home to your sister. I have to be on my way.”

  Francie was silent for a moment. Then she said, “You’d go without me?”

  “I don’t want to,” he said. “But if I can’t trust you to hold up your end, I’m better off” alone.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

  Andrew exhaled with relief. “Good.”

  “You’ll watch, though? Come in there if anything happens?”

  “I will. Now go. I’ll keep the car running. Hurry.”

  Francie opened the door. “I hope nothing happens.”

  “Go on,” he whispered excitedly.

  Francie slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. Then she looked all around before crossing the street and edging up the side of the driveway toward the barn.

  Francie could feel her heart pounding as she approached the barn door. The winter grass was brittle, and it crackled as she tiptoed through it. The barn loomed before her, forbidding as a tomb. For a moment she wished that it were locked up tight so that she could not get in it. She would rattle the door and then just run back to the car and tell Andrew that it couldn’t be done, that she couldn’t get the money.

  She reached the barn door and looked at the handle. It was shut with a wooden bolt that could be easily pushed back. She looked back toward the car. If she got the money, it meant a whole, new, happy life. It was that simple. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the bolt back, and the door began to swing in, almost as if it were exhorting her to enter. It creaked as it swung, and she grabbed for it, to stop the sound and carefully move it until it was wedged in a spot on the dirt floor.

  The thudding of her heart made her whole body tremble as she sidled into the dark barn. She stood still and pushed her glasses up on her nose, trying to adjust to the darkness. It’s all right, she told herself. It’s going to be all right. You’ll get the money, and you’ll go away. To California. She pictured them there, in a little bungalow under palm trees, with big flowers growing all around. Maybe we can get a cat, she thought. We’ll all live together. That thought made her feel a little calmer.

  She could see more clearly now through the piles of junk which filled the old barn, and she tried to remember what some of the things were that only appeared to her as vague outlines now. There were a bunch of mismatched china pieces on one table and an old mantel clock against the back wall that she recognized. Hanging in one corner were some old clothes that looked like scarecrows in the dark. She felt guilty, making her way through the old man’s things, but she pushed the feeling away. The old man had had his chance to be young and run away. Now it was her turn.

  Slowly, carefully, she crossed the barn as if it were a minefield. Nothing fell over; nothing broke, although she had to act quickly to keep from knocking over a birdcage on a stand which she accidentally had brushed against. She reached the wall with the shelves and stretched to grope around for the mason jar. She could not get her hand up high enough.

  Looking around in the dark, she discerned the outline of a straight-back chair. She tiptoed over to it, lifted it up, and carried it over to a spot just under the shelf. Then, gingerly, she climbed up on it, keeping her feet on the rim to avoid the caned seat, which might be weak.

  The chair gave her the necessary height to reach the jar. For one moment she wondered if perhaps the old man emptied it each night and this was all in vain. Then she heard the clink of coins as she pulled the jar forward. She inched the jar toward the edge of the shelf, scraping it along through the dust, until it reached the edge and she grabbed it in her hand.

  Clutching the jar to her chest with a feeling of triumph and relief, Francie steadied herself on the chairback to jump down. She had one foot off the chair when the barn door banged back. By the moonlight Francie saw the silhouette of the old man holding a shotgun. “Who’s there?” he cried.

  Heart pounding, Francie tried to freeze, but her weight was off-balance, and she pitched forward. The old man caught sight of the movement and wheeled around, aiming at the intruder.

  “Don’t—” Francie cried, but he did not hear. The shot exploded from his gun.

  Chapter 12

  ANDREW LOOKED DOWN AT HIS WATCH. It was a digital camp watch that he had ordered from a soldier of fortune magazine that came to the 7-Eleven. He had mailed in a money order and had it delivered to the store. His mother didn’t allow him to read such magazines, and if he had had the watch sent to the house, she would have opened the package and seen where it came from. So it was easier that way, sending it to the store.

  Not too late, he thought. He might still be okay if he played his cards right. He just had to figure out what to say to her. It was like the watch. He had to tell her things that would convince her. He had fooled her before. One more time was all he needed. Then, by tomorrow, he’d have things his way.

  Andrew drove fast, knowing that time was essential. He hadn’t meant to leave Francie there, but it turned out that he had no choice. He had been sitting with his head back against the seat, trying to relax while he waited. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the front door of the house open, and the old man stomped out on the porch, holding in his hand something long that looked like a mop handle. The old man had stared out at the car where Andrew was sitting. He stared long and hard at it, and Andrew knew he was wondering what the car was doing there at that time of the night, just sitting.

  That was why he had to go. If the old man had come out and started asking questions, there would have been trouble.

  Andrew had hesitated for a moment and then drove off. In his rearview mirror Andrew could see the old man walk out onto the silvery lawn and then look in the direction of the barn.

  Andrew intended to drive up and down a few streets and then circle back and pick up Francie. That was his plan as he drove away. He would just kill a little time until the coast was clear and then circle back for her. But as he drove slowly down the neighboring streets, he began to reconsider.

  By now, he knew, his mother would be on the warpath. She might already be calling the police. If she did and they started looking…Even if they got the old man’s money, they’d never get out of the county. And if they picked him up trying to run away, he knew his mother. She would tell them everything. Robbing the old man was one thing, but murder was another. Once the cops heard about that…

  Andrew was getting closer to Berwyn Road, and he knew he had to think clearly. The problem with tonight was that the timing was bad. It was good that Francie was ready to come with him, but she had picked the wrong time. You had to plan something like this. You needed to be clever and have a head start on things.

  Tonight was all-important, he thought. First he had to convince her that the story about him and Francie that the sister told was just a big lie. Then tonight he would make all the plans, get everything ready. She’ll never know what hit her.

  As he drove up to the house he could see that she was not waiting at the window. This was unusual for her, and the sick feeling came over him again. It was almost as bad as it had been in the garage parking lot. He got out of the car and breathed de
eply of the chilly air, trying to fortify himself and stick to his resolution. As quickly as possible he hurried in through the basement and took the ritual shower. His clothes lay in a neat pile on the table, as they always did. This reassured him. She wasn’t any more cunning than he. Whatever she might pull on him, he would be ready. He climbed the stairs and tapped gently on the door, trying the knob automatically. To his surprise the door opened, and he was able to let himself in.

  “I’m back,” he called out in a voice that was meant to sound casual. It echoed hollowly through the hall.

  “I’m in here.”

  He followed the voice into the gloom of the parlor. She was sitting in the faded brown wing chair. Her fingers were curled like claws over the edge of the threadbare arms. In her eyes was that haunted, beleaguered stare that he had seen so often. No error in his behavior was too small to summon that look to her eye. It would be followed.

  he knew, by the tremulous inquiry, the opportunity she always afforded him to try to weasel out of an accusation, before she pounced on him, crushing him with her ironclad information. Tonight he was ready for her. He knew what to do. He had never felt so determined. Fear fluttered around in his stomach, but he was able to ignore it.

  “Did you have to work late?” she asked.

  “Well, no, not really.”

  She was silent for a moment, already surprised. “Well, where were you?”

  “It’s—sort of a secret.”

  “A secret.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know all about it, Andrew.”

  “About Noah?” he asked.

  “Noah? What’s Noah got to do with this?”

  “That’s where I was. Covering for Noah.”

  “Don’t give me that, Andrew. I had a visitor today. Do you want to know who my visitor was?”

  “Sure. I don’t care,” he said calmly.

  Leonora jumped to her feet and shook a finger at him. “You’d better care. It was the sister of your little girlfriend. The Pearson girl. She told me all about you and that little girl you are running after.”

  Andrew felt a little shaky, hearing the words, but he put on a smile. “Oh, that’s the joke,” he said. “It’s not me. It’s Noah she’s running around with. She’s so stupid. She got it all wrong. I’m just helping out my friend.”

  Leonora glared at him and came up close to him, atomizing peppermint into his face. He held his breath. “Don’t lie to me, Andrew,” she said, but there was a tiny doubt in her voice. “She said it was you. I was humiliated to listen to it. Vile, perverted behavior with a child. Oh, and I could well believe it. Filth. Just like your father. Filth.”

  Andrew stood perfectly still, clinging to the story in his mind like a sailor in a gale, clinging to the mast. “She made a mistake,” he said. “It was Noah.”

  “Listen to me, Andrew. I did not sacrifice my whole life to protect you just so you could be like him, running around with some child. Oh, no.” Her doughy face was right up against his, and her narrowed eyes were fiercely bright.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said.

  She stared at his forehead, as if trying to read his mind. He could see that she was unsure. “This whole day has been torture,” she said. “Sheer torture.”

  He smiled blankly at her. “You shouldn’t get so upset. I would never do that.”

  “I hope not,” she said. Then her eyes narrowed again. “You hear me out, Andrew. If I ever, ever hear this again, that you are going around with that girl. One time is all, and I’ll be asking around, you can bet. If I hear that—I won’t tolerate it. All these years I have protected you from your punishment. If it weren’t for me, you would be in jail or a mental institution. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that.”

  “No,” said Andrew, squeezing his fingernails into his palms. “I’m grateful to you.”

  She gripped his upper arm in her stubby hand. “I’ve covered up for you, Andrew. I saved you from a life you couldn’t even imagine. I’m not sorry. You are my son, and I would do it again. Any mother would. But I won’t be humiliated by you. I won’t allow you to run wild, flaunting your perverted lusts. I won’t.” She tightened her grip on him. “I can still lead the authorities to your father’s body. And the gun. It’s not too late for that.”

  Andrew turned and looked at her. He felt light-headed, as if her breath were ether and he were floating away from her. He could smile and lie in the face of that lifelong threat. For tomorrow he would be gone. He would never have to look at her ugly face again. Freedom was so close at hand. He and Francie would be gone, and they would never come back. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing,” he said. “The stupid bitch made a mistake.”

  “Andrew,” she said, releasing him, “don’t use that word.”

  “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m going up.”

  She let him go, watching him as he went but not saying anything more. He went to his room and sank down on his bed, a blissful feeling of relief washing over him. She had believed him. Now he had all night to plan.

  After a few minutes of lying on the bed, he heard her footsteps on the stairs and a soft tap at the door. He stiffened at the sound of the tapping.

  “Dear,” she said, “I’ve brought you something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Andrew, I’ve got this tray in my hands, and I can’t open the door. Just open it a teeny bit, and take this before it gets cold. I’ve got some steaming hot soup.”

  For a minute he hesitated, and then a thought came to him. He leaped off the bed and threw the door open. “Give me the soup,” he demanded, and jerked the tray up from her hand so that the bowl flew back at her and the steaming soup splattered all over her.

  She yelped in pain. “It burned me,” she screamed. She wrung her hands and ran for the bathroom. Andrew heard the water running.

  “Sorry,” he said, glowing inside at the success of his sneak attack. “Forget about the soup. I don’t want it anyway.”

  He slammed the door to his room before she had a chance to reply. After a while he heard her going down the hall to her room and closing the door. He did not watch the clock, but he waited for a long time, until he was sure she would be asleep, before he started to stir. As he moved around the room he thought about guerrilla units, packing up camp and moving out in the dead of night. He had read a lot about them in the mercenary magazines. Silence, stealth, and cunning. Those were the qualities that you had to admire about them. That and their deadly resolve to carry out their mission at all costs.

  First he went to his bookcase and dragged out the road atlas and opened it to the map of the U.S.A. There were so many places you could disappear to, a million towns where you could be free in the land of the free. The thought made his lips curl into a smile, although his eyes remained cold and riveted to the page. He had told Francie his father lived in California. He ran his finger up and down the California coastline. That was no problem. Once they got there, he’d just say he lost the address or something. He rolled up the atlas and put a rubber band around it.

  Then he lay down on his back and ran his hands under the bottom of his dresser, peeling off the masking tape which held the large lightweight package wrapped in plastic. Andrew shook the package loose and took it out. It was a khaki duffel bag, neatly folded, which he had ordered from the same magazine as the watch and had hidden under the dresser. He had had to be very careful getting it into the house because he knew if she saw it, she would take it away, saying he didn’t need it because he wasn’t going anywhere.

  Gently he shook the bag out and then, after easing open the creaky drawers of the dresser, took out some clothes he thought he would need. He took only light things, figuring it would be warmer where they were going. Plus he had to keep the bag fairly flat so he could hide it under the bed for tonight and the morning.

  Now, he thought, zippering the bag, for the most important part. In the toe of his oldest sneakers, which he always kept stuffed with a
pair of sweat socks, he pulled up the insole, and there it was. It was the key chain she had given him, the one with the bird on it, and dangling from the metal hook were two keys, one to the ignition and the other to the trunk of his mother’s car. He had had them made in Harrison one day, when he drove her there to shop on a Saturday. It had been a daring move, although he had waited to run to the hardware store while she was in the beauty parlor having her hair cut. She had been suspicious of his whereabouts, but he made up a good story about trying on a pair of pants, and even though she made a fuss and said they couldn’t afford new pants, she let the matter drop.

  He stared at the keys now with an exhilarating feeling of power. Tomorrow she would be sure to take her set to work after the way he had kept the car out late today. He would pretend to go walking off to work as usual, but instead, he would go find Francie at school and convince her to come with him. Then he could come back for his things, and the car, after she had gotten her bus, and he and Francie would be long gone by the time she got back from Dr. Ridberg’s.

  As he formulated the plan in his mind he found the last thing he needed. It was an envelope of money, hidden inside a book which he had cut out the pages from, the way it was done in the movies. He had been saving the money for a car, but now they wouldn’t need it because they had her car. After unzipping the duffel bag, he tossed the keys and the money back in and then carefully wedged the bag under the bed. He attached it to the bedsprings so that it did not hang down under the wooden frame. He began to think about the car. She would probably describe the car to the police, and sooner or later he and Francie might have to ditch it and steal another car. For that matter, the money could run out, and they had to have a way to get more money fast. The one thing they still needed was a weapon, and he knew there was a gun in this house. Hadn’t she been threatening him with that information for years? Tomorrow, when he got home, he would search the place until he found it. It didn’t matter how he tore the house apart. He wouldn’t need to put anything back. She could yell all she wanted after he was gone.