by David DeVowe
“Seriously?” I wanted to believe her.
“Yes! God is my witness!” Maryanne tucked her hair behind one ear. “All week I’ve been thinking about why we came here. Realizing it was to search after bad people made me sad. And then thinking about all the times we’ve moved for that reason. We’d go to a new place, long enough to make a few friends, and then Daddy would get a new job. I had no idea that was the reason why.”
MaryAnne locked her eyes on mine. “I’m not a spy, Shoesth,” she said.
I kicked at the dirt in front of me.
“And I still want to be your friend,” said MaryAnne.
Those words struck me somewhere deep down. Perhaps she was as honest as she looked. I offered a word of peace. “Wanna come fishin’?”
MaryAnne stifled a smile. “I’m supposed to be back soon. But how about we work on the fort tomorrow after lunch?”
“Deal,” I said.
It was late when I headed home from the creek. The fish weren’t biting, but I had a lot to think about, and that takes time. On my walk back I spied Brady Fister hanging out in front of INO’s again with his bully friends. I stayed to the far side and kept walkin’.
“Hey, Shrimp!” Brady yelled. “What kinda trouble you been in?” He grinned at his followers, then looked back at me. “I said, what’s the sheriff got on you?” He and the others started across the road to intercept me. I stopped walkin’ when Brady bumped his belly into my chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. It was a lame answer. Everyone knows everything in Stoney Creek. But lying was the only thing I could come up with ‘cause I didn’t know what else to say.
Brady shoved me back by the throat. “Don’t lie to me, Shoestring! Sheriff’s been in town and he’s got something on you. Fess up!” That’s when Brady slapped the side of my head.
I remembered what Mr. DuPree said and what Dad told me. I looked up at Brady and didn’t say another word. Brady’s first punch caught me just below the eye. The next few minutes became a blur. Punches were comin’ at me from all directions. At one point I doubled over from a kick to the stomach, and didn’t remember a whole lot after that.
***
The smell of motor oil was what stirred me awake. I was laying in the weeds behind the Standard Oil Station near the alley to my house. It was nearly dark. My fishing pole and can of worms were gone.
When I came into the kitchen, Mama gasped, “What happened to you?” My jaw hurt too much to talk. Mama scurried to the other room for the medicine box, patched me up and covered me in bed. I rested in the knowledge that Dad would be making a call on the Fisters.
12
Witness
I kept my promise with MaryAnne the next day. She was waiting for me at the fort when I got there.
“Shoesth, your eye! What happened to you?” MaryAnne worried.
“Brady,” I said. “He beat me up ‘cause I wouldn’t tell him why the sheriff was at our house.” I could see MaryAnne’s worry worsen.
“Let’s put some new steps on this ladder once and for all.” I thought changing the subject might help MaryAnne, and it would take my mind off the pain in my eye. I held up a short piece of wood close to where the broken step had been. “Do you know, this is what I was imagining when I put pencils in your hair.”
“What?”
“I pretended I was making a ladder to my fort, right up the back of your braid. The pencils were steps. I thought it was kinda funny until you walked up front. Dumb, huh?”
“You are so funny, Shoesth. Even when you’re hurting. I don’t know if I will ever figure you out.”
I sniffed. “MaryAnne, do you think this is all happening for a reason?”
“All of what?” MaryAnne said.
“I mean, the junk at the hot pond, the secrets, getting beat up. Things weren’t like this before. Sometimes I wonder, is there a reason for stuff, or do we just run into dumb things all our life and have to deal with it?”
“There’s always a reason,” MaryAnne chimed. “Take the ladder in my hair. Alice called it Jacob’s ladder. Do you remember me asking you if you know the real Jacob’s ladder?”
“Kind of.”
“You said no, you didn’t know the real Jacob’s ladder and that it didn’t matter. Well, the real Jacob’s ladder is Jesus. Jacob saw a ladder to heaven in a dream and he saw angels going up and down. It’s a picture of Jesus—the only way to heaven. Me sitting in front of you happened for a reason, Shoesth. Same with Alice getting mad at me and your pencil hitting her in the head. If all that never happened, you wouldn’t know the answer to the question!”
“Have you been hanging out with Mrs. Krebbs?” I said.
MaryAnne pursed. “Shoesth! I’m serious. God has a plan for you and for me!”
“That’s the same thing Mrs. Krebbs told me! Now you’re getting weird.”
“I don’t talk to Mrs. Krebbs,” MaryAnne said. “My Daddy reads to Mama and me every night when he can, mostly the big stories from the Bible. Doesn’t your dad read to you too?”
“No. We go to church for that,” I retorted. “Sorry I asked.”
MaryAnne fell quiet. I pounded six nails into the new step so it wouldn’t fall off this time. I drove the last nail real hard, then hung the hammer on it by its claw and turned on MaryAnne. “So you think that there is a reason I got beat up by Brady!”
“Yup,” MaryAnne said with certainty.
“Okay, so tell me, why did Brady punch me in the face?”
“Shoesth,” MaryAnne started with concern, “It brought you to thinking about why things happen. And it brought you to hearing about the only way to heaven. I think that’s why Brady punched you in the face.”
I had no words for that. MaryAnne was too complicated to understand. It pained me to figure her out and my head hurt enough already.
***
Mama had me at the co-op again that week. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Jimmy Saddlekamp was at the register. Jimmy was a kid I could like. He was only two grades ahead of me and already he knew how to run his dad’s store. We exchanged hi’s before I took to getting Mama’s things. I was in the back aisle looking for ginger when the bell on the door jingled. I heard Jimmy say, “Good morning, Mrs. Hawthorne. Hi, Buffa—um, Alice.”
“Good morning, James,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied with a sing-song. “Are the peaches in yet?”
“No, ma’am,” Jimmy replied. “We don’t see them until well after the Fourth. You’ll know it ‘cause we’ll have cases displayed right up front here like always.”
“Perhaps you or your father will alert me as soon as they come in,” Mrs. Hawthorne said sweetly. I stopped looking for ginger to focus on listening.
“Mom!” It was Buffalo’s voice—clearly irritated. “Let’s go. Dad will be expecting dinner.”
That was the first time I heard Buffalo concerned about either of her parents. Come to think of it, that was the first time I heard Buffalo concerned about anyone.
“Well, really, Alice! How will you ever turn the heads of handsome men treating them like that!” The bell on the door jingled again. “You’ll be fending for yourself one of these . . .” The door slammed, then all went quiet.
I finally found ginger and picked up the sugar Mama wanted. Necco Wafers caught my eye near the checkout. I was sure Mama wouldn’t mind if I got a roll for me. I picked one out, then set my things on the counter to be rung up.
“Wow, Jimmy,” I said, half-kidding, “Mrs. Hawthorne is nice to you!”
“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said with a look of disgust.
“She always like that?” I asked.
“Lately, yes. But she gives me the creeps.” Jimmy pushed buttons on the register until my total popped up in the little window. “You know what’s really creepy?”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I looked out the window of the door to see that the street was still lifeless. “What?” I said.
Jimmy leaned toward me
, even though the place was empty. “Buffalo came in here the other day and started rambling on, like she was giving me some good advice. She said, ‘Tell your dad not to push back on my mother. He should do what she says.’ I asked her what she meant by that. She said, ‘Just tell him to do what she asks or my mother will make him look bad to my pa. And Pa can get real angry. Then your dad will be like the last one that said no—floating in the hot pond. Just do what she says, I’m telling ya.’ ” Jimmy stood straight up again. “That girl is weird.”
I looked agape at him for a moment. “What do you make of all that?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I told my dad about it; he said don’t be too chummy with them.” Jimmy continued, “Buffalo’s always pushing someone around. But that was low—taking a sad accident like what happened to the Stueck brothers and turning it into her own threat. I think she likes to make herself scarier than she already is.” Jimmy made change from the dollar I gave him.
“Sounds like you’d better tell Mrs. Hawthorne when the peaches come in,” I concluded.
Mama’s cookie mix was waiting for ginger when I got back home. Mama wondered what took me so long.
“It’s hard to find ginger, Mama,” I said. “I’m going back out for a while.”
“Don’t be long, Shoe. Lunch is in an hour,” Mama reminded me as I ran out the door straight toward MaryAnne’s.
I knocked on the front door of the DuPree’s as loud as I dared, hoping MaryAnne’s dad would be working at home. It was her mother who answered instead. She was a pretty lady if any lady was pretty. Her light-pink flared-out dress wasn’t the kind of house dress Mama wore during workdays. Mrs. DuPree always looked like she was going somewhere real nice.
“Oh, hello, Shoe,” she said. “What brings you here?” Mrs. DuPree had a smile as bright as MaryAnne’s but she didn’t have the dimples to match; or the red hair.
“Is Mr. DuPree home?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I need to talk with him, please,” I pressed.
“Let me take you to his desk room,” she said. Mrs. DuPree led me to a doorway off their front room.
“Why, Mr. Makinen,” Mr. DuPree said. “Have a seat.”
He got up and closed the door behind me. I sat down in a chair next to his desk. A shiny black telephone stood tall in front of me. I had only known the telephone hanging on the wall at the Co-op. Never had I seen one on a desk. Nor had I seen one in somebody’s house.
“What can I do for you?” Mr. DuPree asked as he sat in his swivel chair.
“I heard something that I thought you should know,” I said tentatively.
“Oh? What is that?”
“Buffalo came into the Co-op and threatened Jimmy’s dad to do what he’s told!”
“Buffalo?” Mr. DuPree looked confused.
“Buffalo Alice. That’s Alice Hawthorne,” I explained.
“Okay, Arthur. Slow down. Now tell me again what Jimmy said.”
I told Mr. DuPree what Jimmy had said, near as I could remember it. Mr. DuPree scribbled on a tablet of paper. At one point he asked, “Did he say anything more about Mrs. Hawthorne making Mr. Saddlekamp look bad to Mr. Hawthorne? Anything about setting him up, or making him out to be something he wasn’t?”
“No, not that I know of.” I wasn’t sure where Mr. DuPree was going with that.
“Sounds like I need to make a visit to the Saddlekamps,” Mr. DuPree said as he put his pencil down. “Anything else?”
“That’s it!” I said, ready to leave and have a normal day.
Mr. DuPree looked deep in thought. “Make sure you don’t say anything about this to Alice Hawthorne. Things could get real messy.”
“Oh, believe me, I don’t say anything to Buffalo Alice unless someone’s life is on the line—like the time she pushed MaryAnne after church.”
“Okay,” said Mr. DuPree. “We need things kept tight; just a little longer.”
MaryAnne stood outside the door when I came out of her dad’s desk room. She held her chin down, smiling at me with her eyes. I wished I knew how she did that.
Mr. DuPree saw me to the door. “Thank you, Arthur; not a word now, right?”
“Right!”
13
A Visit to MaryAnne’s
A brand-new flag flew over the post office on the last day of June. I could see the top of the pole and the flag’s bright-red stripes all the way from the other side of our alley. Different at Stoney Creek is sure to stand out.
Mama had saddled me with a sack of rhubarb to bring to the DuPrees. She said Mrs. DuPree was baking pies and wanted to make one with rhubarb. I was glad to bring it. We already had rhubarb pie, rhubarb jam, rhubarb sauce, rhubarb crisp, and rhubarb coffee cake. Still, our rhubarb was just as thick as when I picked it the first time. I put the sack under one arm and wobbled my bike with the other hand until I got up enough speed. Mail would be in by now, so I decided to stop there first. The white building came into full view at the end of our alley along with a brand-new Chevrolet parked out front. I admired it from a distance, then dropped my bike off the road to take a closer look at its shiny radiator shell. The step plate on the running board glimmered more than my best nickel. I set my sack down to peer inside at the pedals, the levers, and the shiny black steering wheel.
“What do you think, son?” Mr. Saddlekamp’s voice startled me. I bumped my head on the side of the car door on the way out. “It’s a Series F Superior. Just drove it home this morning,” he said.
“Wow,” I replied, rubbing the back of my head. “Haven’t seen a car that new before.”
“Our first automobile,” Mr. Saddlekamp said. His chest pushed out just a little further than normal as his eyes remained locked on the car.
I ogled with him. “It’s the shiniest car in town—just in time for the parade!”
Mr. Saddlekamp smiled at me as he pulled the door open. “Mail’s in, if that’s what you came for.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. I grabbed the rhubarb and moved to the post office porch to get out of the way. The car’s engine purred quietly when it started. I noticed the whitewall tires were nearly as bright as the new flag overhead. I watched the Chevy all the way down the main road until it was just a small puff of dust.
Mr. Kingman didn’t have any letters for us, not that I expected any. It was still fun to check the mail, kinda like checking traps.
“Do you have any mail for the DuPrees?” I asked Mr. Kingman.
“Why, you going up that way?” he said.
“Yes, sir. I gotta bring them rhubarb. Thought I’d take their mail, too.”
“You’re in luck,” said Mr. Kingman. “One small box for Adrien DuPree.”
With the box under one arm and the sack in the same hand, I managed to get my bike going again after a few tries. My arm ached when I arrived. MaryAnne answered the door.
“Hi, Shoesth!” she said with surprise.
“I brought some rhubarb from Mom.” I held the sack out to her. “And I got your mail, too,” I said.
MaryAnne couldn’t hold both. “Why don’t you come in,” she said over the sack.
I stepped into the smell of Murphy’s Oil Soap. Must be a clean floor, I thought. The kitchen was very orderly—something I hadn’t noticed last time when I rushed in to see Mr. DuPree. A sign hung high on the wall over the doorway to the front room:
“Choose this day whom ye will serve; … but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
–Joshua 24:15
Seemed odd to me, since Mr. DuPree wasn’t a pastor. Mrs. DuPree was mixing something by the sink. “Oh, hi, Arthur,” she said, stopping her stirring to look at me. “Or should I call you Shoes?”
“It’s Shoe,” I said. “Most people call me Shoe.”
“I’m sorry . . . Shoe. You can put the package down on the table. Thank you for doing that.”
I put the box on a place mat. The table was empty except for six perfectly arranged placemats and a vase with
one flower in it. I didn’t ask why they had six placemats since there were only three of them. That would be rude.
MaryAnne interjected, “Shoesth, do you want to stay for a while?” Before I could answer she turned to her mother, “Can Shoesth stay a while, Mama?
“Oh, sure,” Mrs. DuPree replied. “I’m mixing up crust for pasties if you want to join us for dinner.”
“No, ma’am. I mean, I could stay for a bit, but I didn’t tell Mama that I would be out for dinner.”
Mrs. DuPree used a dishrag to wipe a bit of flour off the countertop.
“Good!” MaryAnne expressed her delight by standing on her tippy toes.
I wasn’t sure what we would do in such a neat, clean house, yet I was interested to find out. MaryAnne showed me to the front room.
“Let’s play Tiddlywinks.” MaryAnne took a box from the end table.
“O-o-kay,” I said. Tiddlywinks wasn’t exactly my idea of fun. I’d rather play marbles in the sand, shoot slingshots, anything. I had tried Tiddlywinks once but not with colorful winks like this or on such a smooth carpet that went from one wall nearly to the other. Being new to their house, I said okay. At least it wasn’t dolls.
MaryAnne set the game up just inside the doorway from the kitchen. She started out by shooting her first wink into the pot. Now I could see why she liked this game. I shot next. The wink popped up and landed on MaryAnne’s dress. She thought it was funny.
Sounds of Mr. DuPree’s voice came through the door off the front room as we played. “What’s your dad do in there all day?” I asked.
“Work. He’s not in there all day.” MaryAnne talked without taking her eye off the center pot, shooting three winks in a row. I was glad when she finally beat me. It was plain she was energized by her victory.
“Want to play again?” she asked.
“Nah.” I wrinkled my nose for emphasis.
“Then what do you want to do?”
“How about spy on the spy?”
“What do you mean?” MaryAnne puzzled.
“Let’s play spy on the spy. You and me can be the spies, and we’ll spy on your dad, who is the real spy!” I said with vigor.
