“No,” I said. “That’s Henri.” I pointed to the orderly. “We just went into the library and asked about your address. And the man knew you from the lecture on impressions. So he helped us find the address for your house.” I didn’t want Old Finn’s confusion to be worse.
“I apologize,” Justine said to Henri. “This day has been a shock.”
“Calm is best,” Henri said like he meant it for us all. “Especially for Michael. A short visit now, then he must have his rest. Rest helps him to be well.”
“Calm,” Justine repeated. “Of course, I understand.” She took the wheelchair and pushed Old Finn toward the lounge. “Mick, Mick,” she said. She parked his chair and took a seat beside him, sat there on the edge, his hands inside of hers. The three of us just stared. Here they were, Old Finn and Justine. The people from those letters. The woman who loved him, the man who called her up in France when Mama died. It seemed like we should sit off someplace else, leave the two of them alone with their old love.
“You just tell me what you need,” she said. “Anything. I don’t teach until September.”
Old Finn lifted up his hand, pointed toward us crowded in one chair. “Th- . . . ,” he said.
“The?” Justine shook her head.
“Th- . . . ,” he tried again.
Nightingale grabbed the clipboard from his pouch, set it on his lap. Then she put the fat pencil in his hand, helped him hold it. I could hardly read the letters, but Nightingale made them out. “T-h-,” Nightingale said.
Baby leaned in close to the table. “He means us!” Baby shouted. “Them. I can really read it. Them. Old Finn is asking about us!”
50
OUR SHADOW
I wished Baby hadn’t shouted, because suddenly the front-desk nurse was there telling Justine sternly Old Finn was ready for a rest. “It’s too much for one day,” she said over her shoulder as she took Old Finn away. “Come back tomorrow evening. After supper’s always best.”
“Okay,” Justine said. “Certainly, of course.” All of us leaned forward like we wanted to go with him. I didn’t know when we’d get to see Old Finn again, and here he was wheeled off without our telling him good-bye. We wouldn’t be back tomorrow, but maybe Justine would.
“But we came all this way.” Baby’s voice was close to tears.
“I’m sorry,” Justine answered like Old Finn’s leaving was her fault. “Why don’t you children let me ask a couple questions. Wait down in the lobby and then we’ll work things out. I’d like to have a quick word with Mick’s nurse.”
“Us, too,” I said. “We want to hear about Old Finn.” I didn’t want the information jumbled the way it was when we heard it from Miss Addie or sweetened up the way grown-ups did with kids. I wished the whole world had the constitution of Serenity, so kids and grown-ups could all have equal rights. “We’re Old Finn’s next of kin.”
“Of course you are.” Justine smiled sadly. “But for now, let me be the one to ask.”
• • •
I tried to have the good sense not to argue with Justine, not just now when we still needed money and a grown-up who could help. Instead I led us all down to the lobby, stepped off the crowded elevator, and ran straight into Thor.
Thor dressed in his normal overalls and seed cap, his dirty work boots, the red bandana peeking out of his back pocket. What was he doing at St. Mary’s in Duluth? “Kathleen,” he said. He gave a nod to Nightingale and Baby.
“Thor?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice.
“I saw you kids get on that elevator earlier,” he said. “Thought I’d wait to say hello until you rode back down.”
“You saw us in this lobby?” How long had Thor been here?
“Yep, I did. Not so long ago. With that woman in the hat.”
“Oh,” I said. A wave of fresh shame burned across my face.
“I’ve been up there myself,” he said. “Paid your grandpa a short visit.”
“You did?” I stared down at my feet. Thor knew. He knew that I had lied.
“Is that why she said Old Finn was popular today?” Baby asked. “’Cause you came here from Goodwell?”
“I reckon so.” Thor smiled.
T-h-? Had Old Finn been writing Thor?
“He can’t really talk yet,” Baby said. “Or say his ABCs. But all of us will help.”
“Shush,” Nightingale said to Baby.
“Well, he can’t,” Baby said. “And he’s in a wheelchair.”
“That he is,” Thor said. “I saw it. Nurse says it’s some sort of infection in the brain. Started as a fever.”
“Encephalitis,” Nightingale said.
“Yep.” Thor nodded. “Wish I would have known that there was trouble at your place. That your grandpa was so sick. I could’ve been a help.”
“You were a help,” I said. “You drove us to the doctor. Gave us bacon. Tried to give us eggs.” Without us ever asking, Thor had helped us more than anybody else. And none of that had hurt.
“I see you found some shoes.” Thor grinned at Nightingale’s feet. “Put ’em on to come into the city?”
“Yep,” Nightingale said. This was the first I’d ever seen her speak to Thor.
“So you get here on the Greyhound?” Thor asked.
“Uh-huh.” I could hardly speak. I felt like Thor had been our shadow all the way from Goodwell or he’d watched us like some god who knew our deepest secrets from the start.
“Quite a cast of characters on Greyhound,” he said. “A dog from every town.”
“Real army men,” Baby said. “Old Finn was in the army. But he didn’t like it much.”
“That so?” Thor smiled at Baby. “Well, I think I’ll drive you back,” he said to me. “Save the money on the tickets.”
“We already bought both ways,” I said, confused. It’d be a crowded ride with four inside his truck. “Our bus leaves at six thirty.”
“Naw,” Thor said. “I don’t want you on that bus.”
“Kathleen?” Justine called when the elevator opened. I knew she was surprised to see us talking with a strange man in the lobby of St. Mary’s. “Kathleen?” she said again like I had an explanation. I did, but it was difficult to tell. And I still didn’t know how Thor had found us here.
“It’s Thor,” I said. “Thor Jensen.”
“Ma’am.” Thor nodded. He put his hands into his pocket when he should have shook Justine’s. That much manners Mama taught us long ago.
“Thor?” Justine said. “From Goodwell? Don’t you own the Junk and Stuff?”
“I do,” Thor said.
“I’ve been to your flea market, several times, Saturdays in summer, right? Once, I bought a lovely basket there. I still use it to serve bread. I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“Oh, I remember, ma’am,” Thor said. “You were there with Michael.” I’d never seen him look so shy.
Justine gave Thor a wide, kind smile. “So you drove the children in,” she said. My heart stopped. I snuck a glance at Nightingale, but she looked at the floor. “At last, things are finally making sense! I’ve been slow to get these pieces all together. This day has been disorienting.”
“I bet.” Thor looked at me. “I got some confusion, too.”
“Mick’s news was such a shock,” Justine continued. “I’m afraid my brain was in a panic. And meeting these sweet children on a day I didn’t expect it. There they were right outside my house!” Once Thor told Justine the truth about my lies, she might not think of us as sweet. Me, at least. Nightingale and Baby were easier to love.
“They sure can be surprising.” Thor reached for his bandana, wiped his tired face. “It’s a shame to see a good man suffer so.”
“Yes.” Justine blinked exactly like I did to keep from crying. “Mick certa
inly is suffering.”
“But he’ll get well!” Baby said again.
“What’d the nurse say?” I asked. Old Finn’s getting better mattered more than any trouble up ahead.
“Well, they were optimistic,” Justine said. “Cautious, but optimistic.”
“What’s that mean exactly?” I looked at Nightingale; someday I’d understand as much as her. “Good or bad?” I asked.
“Well.” Justine sighed. “It means Mick’s making progress. Bit by bit. His brain’s already healing.”
“So he’ll get well?” I said.
“It means that they have hope.”
51
IN THE DARK
I was in a hurry for Justine to leave us there with Thor, even if it meant a long truck ride back to Goodwell while I owned up to every lie I told, and going home without an extra penny or Justine as our grown-up when we needed one right now. Anything was better than Thor spilling all my stories in the lobby of St. Mary’s, telling Justine I was a liar when I’d only just now met her. If we left now, I could explain it all myself, later in a letter—still the sweet child she imagined, writing her for help.
“Well, okay,” I said, “we should get going home.”
“You’re heading back to Goodwell?” Justine said to Thor.
Thor looked at me. “I’m not certain, yet,” he said. “We got to work things out exactly.”
“Baby!” someone screamed. “Baby!” We all turned to look; it was Sage in her too-long peasant dress running through the lobby of St. Mary’s, heading straight for Baby. What was Sage doing here? And why was Nash running right behind her?
“Sage!” Baby screamed.
Nightingale’s black eyes filled with terror; she grabbed my wrist. Nash was here? With the consent form for Old Finn? He’d come to Duluth just for that magazine. No wonder he said no one liked reporters. I didn’t like reporters.
“Oh good lord!” Nash panted when he finally caught up to Sage and Baby. “So the manhunt finally ends?”
“Got the suspects here.” Thor gave a little laugh.
What was Nash doing here with Thor? It was Thor who warned me not to make Nash welcome. Now he’d come with Nash and Sage into Duluth? And how’d they ever find us at St. Mary’s?
“Manhunt?” Justine asked.
“Or better yet—the kid hunt.” Nash bent over at the waist to catch his breath, his shaggy curls fell around his face. His rusty whiskers had thickened to a beard. He looked less like a hippie miles away from Goodwell, but Nash’s and Sage’s rumpled road clothes still needed a good wash. “I ought to get a Pulitzer for cracking this big story. And a medal for chasing Sage down an entire city block.”
“Pulitzer?” Justine said. “What story are you writing?”
“Oh wow!” Nash said. “I’m not sure where to start.” A mix of sad and mad and tricked was right there on his face. It was a look I saw on Mama the times I let her down. The times I didn’t deserve the special name she gave me. I knew I didn’t deserve it now.
“These kids are running quite the operation,” Nash said. “Nixon should have had them at the White House. You’ve got a mastermind and then some.”
“Operation?” Justine asked.
“I don’t know,” Thor muttered. “They’re not the likes of Nixon.”
“Nixon?” Justine fanned her face. “I wish this all made better sense to me.”
“Me, too,” Nash said. “Although I have to say, today, it’s finally coming clear. But Pride has all the answers. She’s the one in charge.”
“Me?” I said. I felt like I was backed into a corner, like all the bad I’d ever done was right there at St. Mary’s for everyone to see. Liar. It’s how Justine would think of me forever. Thor, too. Old Finn when he finally learned the truth. I looked over toward the door. I could run, I could outrun Justine and Thor and panting Nash, who was out of breath from Sage, disappear into Duluth. But I could never leave without Nightingale and Baby. Ever. “It started as a story,” I tried to say, but all my words just broke. “Lots of stories.”
“It isn’t only Pride.” Nightingale hooked her arm around my waist. For the first time since this morning we were back on the same side. “We’re all in charge together. We all just did our best.”
A fresh flood of tears washed over my cheeks. Nightingale was standing up beside me; she wasn’t going to make me take the blame alone. Even though the lies belonged to me. Nearly every lie from start to finish.
“No,” I gulped. “Nightingale warned me.”
“Pride’s not the only boss,” Baby said. “I’m the one who brought the paper. And the compass.” He tugged Miss Addie’s note out of his pocket. “Inseffalyntalitis,” he said, waving the paper in the air.
“Oh my.” Justine rubbed her hand in circles on my back, a gentle comfort rub I hadn’t felt since Mama died. “I can tell I’m really in the dark,” she said. “Perhaps we’d all do better if we sat down for a talk. Could we gather at my house? I could fix a bite to eat before you all get on the road. I’d like to take some time to sort things out.” She looked at Thor. “Or are you in a hurry to get back home to Goodwell?”
“Don’t know.” He stared at me.
“Let’s eat!” Baby grabbed hold of Sage’s hand and starting jumping. “Bread and chocolate!” Baby chanted.
“Bread and chocolate?” Justine asked, confused.
“That sure sounds French to me,” Nash said.
“It does.” Justine cocked her head. “Did your grandfather teach you children about France?”
“Oh no,” I said. “Not really.” I covered Baby’s blabbermouth before he blurted out another word about the letters. “Baby’s just so crazy about bread.”
52
ALMOST FAMOUS
Justine said she couldn’t make heads or tails of our complex situation until we’d had a bite to eat, because she was just too famished and befuddled to keep a single detail straight. I knew from those big words why Old Finn loved her. While Justine cooked I sat alone on that settee, my heart too heavy with all I had ahead. The lies I had to face, the help I needed for my family.
When we finally gathered at the table, Nightingale had us say a short prayer for Old Finn, one she led, even though we’d never said a single prayer at supper. I got the feeling from their faces that no one else did either, still Baby clenched his eyelids closed, pressed his pudgy hands into a steeple like a prayer. He looked like he’d been praying his whole life.
By the time Justine was ready for our story, it was Nash—not me—who did the talking first. He started with the travel magazine, and his freelance article on the back roads of northern Minnesota and how he’d stumbled on the Stars, the pony rides, and popcorn, like we were sudden boulders he’d tripped over in the road. Sometimes Baby interrupted and added something silly, but mostly I sat quiet, worried most about what was coming next.
The seven of us sat there at the table with Justine on her colorful back porch, with flowerpots in every corner and candles burning in green bottles when we didn’t even need the light. I’d never had spaghetti like Justine’s. It was white, and rich and creamy—some recipe she learned to cook in France—with ham, and cheese and broccoli, plus little peas and carrots that somehow tasted good.
The more Nash ate, the happier he seemed. He told Justine how he’d never seen a business run entirely by kids, not on a back road or a city, and how charming it first looked to him that morning—the cereal and coffee, the ancient spring horse Baby dragged out of the barn. He said if any traveler were on the search for something special, the Stars’ Pony Rides and Popcorn would be the perfect place.
So far Nash had left out all my lies: He didn’t mention Mama as a painter or our charity or how we said Old Finn would be home soon when he wasn’t.
“It wasn’t until I realized they were se
lling to survive that I started to get worried, started wondering where the grown-ups had gone. You know—what were three kids doing earning money all alone?”
“Alone?” Justine asked.
“Not alone,” I interrupted. “We’re there with Miss Addie.”
“Is that all?” she said. “Miss Addie and you children?”
“I hadn’t meant to scare them with the form,” Nash went on. “I just had to have it signed. And after that, I was afraid they’d run away. Sage and I drove back to that cabin every couple hours, walked the grounds, pounded on the door, but we never got an answer.” He shook his head. “Where did you kids go?”
“We were in Old Finn’s closet,” Baby said.
“His closet?” Justine and Nash asked at the same time.
“Pride said we had to hide,” Baby jabbered. He never should’ve said the part about the closet; I didn’t want Nash to know we were hiding from his knocks. “Shut down the store. In case that lady went to the police.”
“The police?” Justine’s bright blue eyes grew bigger.
Thor poked at his spaghetti; I could tell Nash had told him most of our story because he sure didn’t seem one speck surprised.
“We didn’t have a license,” Baby said.
“Or insurance,” Nightingale added. “In case someone got hurt.”
“Hurt how?” Justine took a gulp of water.
“On our pony rides,” I said. “One dumb boy said I pulled him off.” Our business wasn’t secret now except maybe from Old Finn. Old Finn and Miss Addie, but maybe neither one would ever know.
“And this woman.” Nash waved his glass of red wine in the air. “She was absolutely horrible to these kids. The kind of tourist you never want to be.”
“So you children ran a business?” Justine asked. “All by yourselves? You sold pony rides and popcorn?”
“And souvenirs,” I said.
“And Sugar Smacks and coffee,” Baby added. “And Pride’s cookies.”
Keeping Safe the Stars (9781101591215) Page 18
