Bone ran a finger over the name. Images swirled by her, all mixed up like eddies in a river. A pup digging gleefully in Mamaw’s garden. An old dog sunning herself on the treehouse porch, Ash scratching her ear. A young Ash wading through the river, Myrtle paddling close behind. One memory didn’t stand out as happier or sadder than the others. Bone traced the name again as she searched for an image of an eight-year-old Ash among the currents. When did he carve this? she silently asked. Suddenly, she could see a young Ash working the letters and the little flourishes into the leather with a hammer and chisel. He stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he pounded the leather. A little black pup dropped a stick at his feet. He absently threw it and the dog skittered after it.
Uncle Ash was right. Asking the object a question really helped!
Bone laid the collar in her lap. “Uncle Ash, did she—” She didn’t want to see something happen to Myrtle.
“Don’t worry. She lived to a ripe old age and wasn’t wearing the collar when she passed.” He flicked the ashes off his Lucky out the window.
Bone picked the collar up again and described what she saw as the truck passed by the road that went up to the new ammunition plant in Radford. The army had begun building it when the war started. The soldiers guarding the gate waved at Ash.
“What do you see next?” he asked as he waved back.
Bone heard distant rumbles of thunder and saw flashes of light. She felt blind terror from the dog as she raced to an older Ash—and then reassuring comfort as Myrtle pressed her body against Ash’s leg and he patted her head. “She was afraid of thunderstorms,” Bone announced.
“Yes, I’d forgotten about that.” Uncle Ash rolled his window down all the way.
“Poor Myrtle!” Bone now felt a wave of sadness as she watched a teenage Ash get on a bus and drive away. “You left her to go to war!”
“Dumbest thing I ever done.” Uncle Ash shook his head as he fished in his pocket for another Lucky.
“But you came back.” Bone felt Myrtle’s frenzied happiness when Ash returned. The dog’s other memories and feelings were not as crystal clear as a person’s. Myrtle’s were a blur of activity: eating, chasing things through the woods, barking at other things, wading in the creek, eating some more. Once she’d found that first memory, though, Bone could generally follow the current of Myrtle’s life.
Then the memories became human again. Ash was still a young man, only now he had that familiar, easygoing sadness about him. She could feel his heartbreak as he slipped the collar off his beloved dog’s neck and held her. Her muzzle was gray, and her breathing heavy. Ash laid his hand on her and took it away.
“Nothing you can do, Ash,” Mamaw said. “She’s just old, and it’s her time.”
Young man Ash took a draught from Mamaw’s hand and gently poured it down Myrtle’s throat. Her breathing eased. Ash cradled the dog’s head in his lap, clutching the collar in one hand, until she slipped away. He cried as he sang a song to her about packing up your troubles.
With a catch in her voice, Bone told her uncle what she was seeing. He nodded and handed her a hankie. She blew her nose before putting the collar back in the glove box.
“There’s some peppermint sticks in there, too.”
Bone rooted in the tiny compartment and found a small paper sack with the candy in it, under another pack of Lucky Strikes, a box of matches, ration books, and some work gloves.
She sucked on a peppermint stick. Using her Gift took some energy out of her, though not as much as it first did, and the candy helped. Uncle Ash had taught her that. And now he’d also taught her to navigate the currents of an object’s memory a bit better.
“Was the collar trying to show you something in particular?” Uncle Ash asked.
She hadn’t asked the collar that question. But as she thought on it, the song crept back into her mind. “What’s a kit bag?” Bone asked.
“It’s what soldiers put their uniforms and gear in. Why?” He blew smoke out the open window.
“That’s what you were singing to Myrtle.” She handed the handkerchief back to her uncle. “‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile.’” She sang it way off-key on purpose.
Ash chuckled. “I was? It was a popular song back then. We sang it on the boat coming back. It was probably the only song I knew all the way through.” Uncle Ash took a last drag on his Lucky Strike and then ground it out on the side mirror of the truck. “Guess that’s not strictly true. I loved that dog, but I wasn’t just crying for her. It was like I’d packed up all my troubles in that kit bag and hadn’t let them out until then.” Uncle Ash pulled out his dog tags. The metal discs hung on a strap of leather around his neck. He always wore them, as far as she knew, but she’d never thought to ask him about them. She wondered what she’d see if she touched them. Considering what the war had done to him, she didn’t wonder about it long. What had her Gift been trying to tell her about the dog collar?
Uncle Ash quickly tucked them back into his shirt. “I wouldn’t touch these if I were you.” He winked at her and then turned up the radio. “Ever.”
It belted out, “I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle …”
It was an awful song.
Bone and Ash sang along, each trying to out-awful the other, until they got to the stadium.
11
THE PULASKI COUNTS’ stadium was far grander than Centennial Ballpark where the miners played. The Counts were semipro. Some of the players even made it to the major leagues. Bone thought the Counts was a dumb name for a ball team. Then she read the plaque out front while Uncle Ash got their tickets. Evidently Casimir Pulaski was a real live Polish count who was one of George Washington’s generals in the Continental Army. The count whupped the British on the battlefield.
The mine truck rolled up and Uncle Junior let the team out. Actually, Bone noticed as they all marched out of the truck, only the white players came.
“Where’s Tiny and Oscar?” Bone asked Uncle Junior. He looked a bit uncomfortable.
Uncle Ash pointed to the sign over the entrance.
Whites Only
“That’s not fair,” Bone said. Mr. Sherman and Mr. Fears both worked in the mines and played on the mine team alongside white folks. It was peculiar that the men and their families didn’t live in Big Vein, now that Bone thought about it. The black folk had their own community over in Sherman’s Forest. Did they have a choice about that? Bone wondered. If not, that wasn’t fair either.
“No, it is not,” Uncle Ash said as he pointed her in the right direction. “A lot of things in that regard ain’t fair,” he added.
Mamaw, Aunt Mattie, Ruby, Ivy, and Fern were waiting for them inside the gates. Uncle Junior hugged his girls before the womenfolk headed off toward the stands. Fern’s husband had to work, but he’d bought them good seats.
Bone, her uncles, and the boys of the Big Vein ball team made their way to the left field bleachers. They were only half full. Garvin and Marvin Linkous jabbered on about baseball, the world series, and big league players joining up for the war. Will nodded at the appropriate times, but Bone could see he was clutching something in his coat pocket close to him as he walked.
The jelly jar.
The speaker above them squawked. “Welcome to the Pulaski Counts’ stadium! I want to thank you all for coming to our special war bond drive—and our final game. It’s my sad duty to announce that, after today, the Virginia League is suspending play for the duration of the war. Most of our players have already gone and signed up to fight. So we’re having this game to send ’em off in style!”
The crowd groaned.
“Aw nuts,” one of the boys exclaimed.
“I heard on the radio that the big leagues might suspend play, too,” Uncle Ash commented.
Will looked stricken.
“Please stand for our national anthem,” the announcer said.
“This is new,” Uncle Junior said as he got to his feet. “They always p
layed the ‘Banner’ during the seventh-inning stretch.”
“Majors started doing it on account of the war,” Uncle Ash said just before “The Star-Spangled Banner” played over the speakers. It was on a scratchy record.
Bone sang along, trying this time not to be awful. It didn’t really work. All during the song, she was wondering what else could get suspended for the duration.
After they sat down, Garvin Linkous asked Uncle Junior, “Mr. Reed, is the Miners’ League gonna have to stop playing, too?”
Will turned alarmed eyes to Junior.
“I don’t know yet, boys. Depends on if the mines have enough men to field teams. We’re already running out of folks to work second shift.” He signaled the vendor to throw him two bags of roasted peanuts. The bags sailed over the boys’ heads, right into Uncle Junior’s hands. He tossed back a coin.
Marvin nodded. “I heard a couple of the fellas say they’re signing up.”
“We’d sign up if we were eighteen,” Garvin added. The twins were only sixteen.
Not even baseball was safe from the war.
Throughout the game, Bone watched Will while she shelled and munched warm peanuts. He’d get caught up in the action, then touch his pocket, look around, and go back to the game. During the seventh-inning stretch, Will excused himself. He gave Uncle Junior a sign that made him laugh.
“That’s a good idear,” he said as he followed Will out.
“Take Me Out to the Ball Game” started playing over the speakers. When the chorus came around, the crowd joined in. The stretch was Bone’s favorite part of the game. Everyone got up and moved around. Now there was singing! “‘Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,’” Bone crooned at Uncle Ash. Together, they tried to out-awful each other again. It was a tie.
Uncle Junior came back before the end of the stretch—but Will didn’t.
“Oh, he went for pop,” Uncle Junior explained. “He, um, made room for it first.” Her uncle chuckled.
Will still hadn’t returned to his seat by the top of the eighth. Bone eventually spotted him, though, sitting high up in the bleachers under a speaker, with his hand in his jacket pocket. Not a soul was near him, and he didn’t have a soda pop either.
The announcer came on in the bottom of the eighth. “Next up is Pulaski’s own Bernie Teague. If he gets a homer, he’ll set a new league record. Tomorrow, he ships out to the marines.” Everyone was on the edge of their seats when Teague came up to bat. The whole stadium was silent as a grave. Bone could hear the player knock his cleats clean with the bat before he stepped up to the plate. Bone watched Will.
He reached into his pocket and slowly unscrewed the lid of the jar. The pitcher threw one right down the middle. The bat cracked against the ball, sending it over the infield fence. “He tattooed that one!” the announcer shouted. Will quickly screwed the lid back on and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He had a huge grin on his face as he looked down at Bone.
The speaker crackled, and the crowd roared. Everyone shot to their feet. Will whipped around to watch Teague round the bases.
As the speaker above them crackled again, the man in front of Bone cursed loudly. “These darn speakers are always breaking.”
They could still hear the center-field speakers okay—except when Pulaski caught a pop fly to end the game in the ninth. Then the cheering of the crowd drowned out everything else.
Bone, her uncles, and the boys emerged from the stadium to find Mattie and Ruby going at it again across the parking lot. Bone hadn’t noticed them leaving their seats before the end of the game. Their voices carried right far.
“Oh lord,” Uncle Junior muttered. “You boys get in the truck.” He tossed Will the keys before he headed toward the fracas. Will and the other miners ambled toward their truck, which was parked in the shade near Uncle Ash’s pickup.
Uncle Ash unrolled a half-empty bag of peanuts and passed it to Bone. Together, they cracked peanut shells as they watched the row unfold.
Mamaw was standing between Mattie and Ruby now, with Fern and Ivy backing Ruby up. Uncle Junior’s grown daughters towered over their younger cousin.
“Young lady, we have to live somewhere,” Aunt Mattie hollered.
Ruby turned her back on her mother.
“Don’t you dare,” Aunt Mattie huffed. “You will speak to me!”
“Thanks for the offer,” Ruby told Fern in a loud, but civil voice. “Tell Mother I will get a ride home,” she added icily. She pushed past Uncle Junior just as he reached the group of women.
“What’d you think that’s all about?” Bone asked Uncle Ash.
“I expect Fern asked Mattie and Ruby to move in with them come January, at least until they figure out what they’re going to do.” Uncle Ash pulled out his own truck keys. “That was the plan, at least. That’s why Mama got Mattie to come today.”
“That’s nice of Fern!” Bone was happy Ruby had someplace to go—and it was a nice place. Cousin Fern and her husband had a great big house in Radford near the hospital. But that would mean Ruby would have to go to school there. Bone felt a little less happy about that.
“Yes, it was, but I’m guessing it won’t be as easy as that.” Uncle Ash pointed at Ruby steaming toward them. “Best say goodbye to Will and quick.”
Bone ran to catch up to Will. “I can meet you at the cemetery after supper,” she whispered.
He looked at her blankly.
“You know, to listen to it.” She pointed to his coat pocket.
Will stuck his hand in the pocket and hesitated. Then he shook his head and jumped in the back of the truck.
It hit Bone like a bolt out of the blue. He’d never not wanted to do something with her. Ever since they were little, they’d done everything together. School. Fishing. Swimming in the river. Summer movies on the croquet field. He even went with Bone to help Mamaw in the garden or out foraging in the woods. They did things by themselves, of course, like him working in the mines. But he’d never said no to her before. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but it worried her.
Ruby stomped past. “I may have to live with her, but that doesn’t mean I have to talk to her.” She climbed into the cab of Uncle Ash’s truck. Bone and Uncle Ash exchanged a glance that said, It’s gonna be a long ride. Bone slid wearily into the passenger’s seat next to Ruby. Uncle Ash lit a smoke before he sat in the driver’s seat.
After they pulled out onto the main road, Uncle Ash spoke. “Ruby, honey, do you want to talk about it?”
“Don’t pretend you care,” she snapped, her eyes straight ahead.
“Ruby! That ain’t no way to talk to Uncle Ash,” Bone snapped back. “Stop being ugly!” She knew she was really more mad at Will than Ruby, but still no one should talk to Uncle Ash like that.
Ruby stared at Bone for a long, hard moment. “Sorry,” she grudgingly said to Ash. “She just makes me so mad.”
Bone knew the feeling well. But when Ruby said it, it was like the pot calling the kettle black.
“Oh, I know.” Uncle Ash chuckled. “Willow used to keep the peace between me and Mattie. I expect Henry did the same for you two.”
“Nobody likes Mother.” Ruby crossed her arms and scowled straight ahead.
Neither Ash nor Bone could argue with that.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t love her, though,” Ash said. “It’s a hard thing loving someone we don’t particularly like.”
“Amen,” Bone added.
“But we do it.” Uncle Ash looked at Bone when he said this.
Ruby’s scowl deepened. “Well, I’m not talking to her—and please, please let’s do that thing on Halloween.” She whispered that last part at Bone.
The ride home took forever and a day.
Bone wasn’t sure who she was more worried about, Will or Ruby. At least she understood what Ruby was feeling. Maybe.
12
WILL DIDN’T COME over after dinner. He always did. Bone was torn between being mad and worried. Worried won.
Bone sli
pped on her sweater and ran over to the Kincaids’ house. Mrs. Kincaid was sweeping the porch with a distracted fury.
“Bone?” Mrs. Kincaid stopped sweeping.
“Is Will here?”
“He went for his walk a while ago.” She leaned on her broom and peered at Bone through the darkness. Mrs. Kincaid looked like she was tied up in a knot inside. “I thought he always ended up at your place.”
He usually did. Bone had a dark feeling she knew where he was. His mother looked worried, too, but Bone wasn’t about to tell her that Will was at the cemetery. Again. That would not make his mother feel one jot better.
“Maybe he ran into one of the boys and they’re talking baseball,” Bone said.
Mrs. Kincaid relaxed. “That’s what it is.” She nodded. “Baseball, always baseball with that boy.” She started sweeping again.
Bone turned to leave and then thought better of it. “Ma’am, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Of course not, honey.” She kept sweeping.
“When did Will stop talking?” Bone asked quietly.
Mrs. Kincaid swept a little harder. Bone thought she hadn’t heard her. Then she stopped. “Right after his daddy’s funeral. Why?” She put one hand on her hip and stared at Bone.
Bone shrugged. “Just curious.” Both of them knew there was more to Will not talking than that—only Will’s mother didn’t want to say, and Bone didn’t know how to ask.
Mrs. Kincaid went back to sweeping.
The idea of going to the cemetery after dark gave Bone the willies. She didn’t believe in ghosts, devil dogs, or Jack ma lanterns … exactly. Daddy said that was all nonsense. They made good stories. Scary stories. But Will was up there with that jelly jar talking to his dead father at night—near Halloween. Bone shivered.
She went back to the boardinghouse to get a flashlight from the back porch. Mrs. Price had bought it for use in blackouts. The ad in Life magazine said every house needed to have at least one in case the Germans got this far. It felt new, like no one had ever touched it or left a memory on its cardboard-and-metal body. It was a relief. Bone kept the light off until she got to the gravel drive up to the graveyard. She wasn’t about to creep through the woods and into the cemetery the back way, especially in the dark. That would be too much like the nightmare she kept having about Daddy lost in a forest somewhere. Once or twice, though, she flicked on the light to peer into the trees or into the shadows by someone’s porch. And once she could swear she saw a flicker of light where there shouldn’t have been. It’s just foxfire, she told herself. Not Jack and his lantern. Foxfire. Mamaw had taught her certain mushrooms gave off a glow deep in the woods around this time of year. That’s foxfire, just foxfire. Not ghost lights or will-o’-the-wisps or Jack ma lanterns. Foxfire.
Lingering Echoes Page 7
