Part 3 (1/2)
Ruthanne went first, squeezing through the fence where there was a missing iron rod. Then Lettie, then me.
”Over here,” Ruthanne said, crouching behind a tall tombstone. We followed, then waited. And peeked.
Mr. Underhill plodded over to a gra.s.sy spot between two graves and stretched his arms between the markers. His fingertips barely brushed the stones on both sides. I'll be hung if he didn't lie flat on his back then, like he was ready to die himself. From our hiding spot, we could only see his knees poking up as his long legs b.u.t.ted against another grave marker in front.
He lay there, seeming a little too comfortable. Then he got up and made some notes on a pad of paper and, arms hanging down again, walked out of the cemetery.
We waited for the gate to quit squeaking before we gave up our hiding spot.
”He's measuring for somebody's grave,” Lettie said.
Ruthanne looked over the gra.s.sy s.p.a.ce Mr. Underhill had recently occupied. ”The way his legs were bunched up, looks like there's not enough room for a full-grown adult.” She stretched out her arms, measuring length, as the undertaker had done. Then, with one hand about the same height in the air, she turned real slow. ”In fact, I'd say there's probably just enough room for someone about the size of...one...Soletta Taylor!” She placed her hand on Lettie's head.
”You stop that right now, Ruthanne McIntyre! Or I'll tell your mother that you used her colander for catching tadpoles.”
Ruthanne laughed. ”Oh, don't get your knickers in a knot.”
”Let's go home, Ruthanne,” Lettie said. ”I'm thirsty and Mama will be awful upset if she finds out I was clear out in the woods. It must be near midnight.”
”For heaven's sakes, Lettie, it's barely dark.”
”Still...” Lettie whined just a little.
”Oh, you're probably right. Supper will be waiting at my house too,” said Ruthanne.
I hated to see them go. ”Maybe we can find a creek to fill our pop bottles,” I suggested.
”There's nothing more than a trickle within a hundred miles of here. Everyone knows that,” said Ruthanne, kicking up dust as we walked.
”My daddy said he'd heard the drought hadn't taken hold here like it had in other parts.”
”Bad enough,” she answered, stuffing a wad of gra.s.s in her lip like tobacco as we made our way back to Shady's place.
”Still,” said Lettie, ”Uncle Louver says folks around here are lucky. Least there's underground wells to draw from to keep people watered. He says places not that far west of here are so dry people shrivel up like November leaves and blow all the way to California.”
We started back toward the tree house to get Ruthanne's pack.
”I'm tired,” Lettie groaned.
”Nice to meet you, Tired. I'm Hungry,” Ruthanne answered, pulling a half-eaten apple from the pack.
Truth was we all seemed to be getting a little tired of the spy hunt and probably would have dropped the whole thing right then if it hadn't been for what happened next.
When we got back to Shady's property, we saw that there was a note nailed to the trunk of Fort Treeconderoga. At eye level, right on the k.n.o.bby bark. Someone didn't want us to miss it.
”What's it say?” Lettie asked.
I tore it off the nail and adjusted the paper to read it in the dimming light. There were only four words written on it, each one capitalized. I read it out loud.
”Leave Well Enough Alone.”
It was more jarring than scary. But it was scary too. To think that somebody not only knew we were on the trail of the Rattler but had taken the time to write a note to three girls. What had we stirred up? What was the writer of the note afraid of?
”That means the Rattler is still here,” Ruthanne said, ”alive and kicking.” She took a bite of apple.
”How can you eat at a time like this?” Lettie said with a s.h.i.+ver. ”He knows we're looking for him.”
Ruthanne continued munching, pondering the situation. ”Maybe we shouldn't have come right out and asked about the Rattler.”
It was a little late for that revelation, I thought. ”What are we going to do now?”
”What are we going to do now?” Lettie repeated. ”Aren't we going to leave well enough alone?”
Ruthanne looked at Lettie like she'd given the wrong answer to two plus two. ”Of course we're not going to leave well enough alone. We're going to start up our spy hunt again first thing tomorrow.”
I put the note into my pocket for safekeeping. We made plans for Lettie and Ruthanne to come back the next morning and said our goodbyes.
The saloon-church looked warm and inviting with its light glowing through the stained-gla.s.s windows. But I wished Gideon was there waiting for me. To say good night to me. I reached for the compa.s.s to hold, but it was gone. My heart pounded, and even though I hadn't moved, I felt like I'd lost my bearings. The compa.s.s was my most valued possession and I'd lost it twice in two days! I must have snagged it when I'd squeezed through the cemetery fence.
The cemetery. Now, no human being wants to be in a cemetery at night-no normal one, anyway-but I had to find Gideon's compa.s.s.
”Ruthanne. Lettie,” I called, hoping they'd go back with me. They were already out of earshot.
I couldn't ask Shady. I wasn't sure how he'd feel about us following Mr. Underhill into the cemetery in the first place. I didn't plan to show him the note either. That would surely end our spy hunt. So I did the only thing I could. I turned my feet back toward that cemetery and made them walk, one in front of the other.
The moon was on the rise and shed some light for me to look around by, but also made strange shadows on the tombstones. I searched near the fence but found no compa.s.s. I slipped back through it to look. Wandering around the markers, I couldn't help noticing the dates, wondering if Gideon had known some of these folks while they were still among the living.
Some stones had sweet little verses. Others said something about the person who was six feet under. Some of them spoke volumes about the deceased's life and times.
HERE LIES JOHN FOSTER-EXEMPLARY HUMANITARIAN, DISTINGUISHED BUSINESSMAN, CIVIC LEADER,.
GENEROUS PHILANTHROPIST,.
AND DEVOTED FATHER OF TEN.
And next to John Foster: HERE LIES MARY FOSTER-WIFE OF JOHN.
The wind was picking up, blowing a warm, dry air over me. I was about to give up my hunt until morning when I heard a faint sound, something akin to church bells beckoning in the distance. I squeezed back through the fence and let the breeze take me just a little farther toward the sound.
I knew I was nearing the gate marked PERDITION PERDITION, and sure enough, there was what Charlotte had called Miss Sadie's Divining Parlor. That den of iniquity. Preachers used the word iniquity iniquity when talking about the strange and wicked. That divining parlor looked to fit the bill. when talking about the strange and wicked. That divining parlor looked to fit the bill.
Wind chimes of all shapes and sizes lined the porch, making their lonely music in the breeze. And hanging among them was my compa.s.s, glinting in the moonlight. How it had got there, I couldn't be sure. But I knew the wind hadn't carried it. Someone had hung it there.
The house was dark and a rocking chair added an unharmonious sound to the delicate tinkling of the chimes. It creaked back and forth in the dark shadows of the porch. I opened the wrought iron gate, with all its welded forks and pans, and tender-footed my way to the porch. The compa.s.s hung far from the stairs, and the porch was too high to reach from the ground. But beside the uneven steps was a large clay pot. Going up onto the porch seemed like it would be asking for trouble, so I scooted the pot over. It was so heavy I could barely move it. I hoped I'd scooted it within reach of the compa.s.s.
My balance was good enough. I stepped up on the lip of the pot, holding on to the porch rail to steady myself, and reached for the compa.s.s. Just another inch. If the breeze would just catch the compa.s.s and nudge it my way...The breeze had died down. But the rocking chair still moved. I stood motionless, realizing that it wasn't the wind rocking the chair but a large dark form sitting in it. I caught my breath with a tiny cry and tumbled to the ground, breaking the pot in two.