Hydrofoil Mystery (8 page)

“Isaac, you old coot, you really had them all going. Imagine, convincing all these men they'd been cheated by this lad … imagine,” he laughed.

“How else can you explain him winning our money and throwing three sevens in a row?”

“Maybe he's lucky,” Simon answered.

“Three times in a row sounds like more than luck,”

Isaac said.

“Are you accusing the boy of cheating?” Simon challenged.

“I didn't say that,” Isaac replied.

“Luck or cheating. I see no other options,” Simon countered. “And I think it is just luck … and I'm willing to bet on it.” Simon, who was bigger than most of the
other men, shouldered his way through the crowd and stopped right beside me.

“I am willing to make a small wager,” Simon said.

“A wager?”

“A bet. I am willing to bet Billy
will not
throw a seven.

Are you willing to bet that he will, Isaac?”

“Well … I … don't know if …”

“If Isaac doesn't want to bet, how about the rest of you? If you're so certain he's cheating and using loaded dice, then put your money where your mouth is. Anybody interested?”

There was a mumbling of conversation but nobody spoke up to take Simon's offer.

“Okay, everybody, break is over,” Isaac spoke up. “Everybody get back to work!”

The mumbling was replaced by grumbling and complaining. The men who were just spectators started to move away. The five on their knees, who were down money, didn't budge, though.

“Go,” Simon said.

Relieved, I tried to rise to my feet but was stopped by Simon's hand on my shoulder.

“I mean, go … roll the dice.”

“But … but …”

“I know there's no bet, but just do it anyway to prove to them you weren't cheating.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Isaac said. A few of the people who'd started to walk away turned around to watch.

I looked at Simon and then at Isaac. I pulled back my left hand and let the dice fly. At that same instant, while every pair of eyes followed the dice, I took my right hand
and tucked it into the side of my pants, dumping the “lucky” pair into my underpants.

“Nine!” Simon yelled out.

He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. The remaining crowd quickly dispersed, but not without a fair amount of quiet cursing and grumbling.

“I guess I better get back to work too,” I offered. “Wait!” Isaac called out.

He walked toward me. He was old and wasn't very big, hardly as tall as my eyes, but he was a stubborn and cantankerous old bird and I was unnerved by him.

“Don't you want your dice?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching out to take them.

He dropped the dice into my open palm and then grasped my wrist tightly. He stared into my eyes. “Peculiar how you reached out with your right hand to take the dice, but threw them with your left hand … very peculiar indeed.”

I pulled my hand away but couldn't escape his gaze. “Knowing something and proving it are two different things. I
know
what was happening here, and I expect this will be the last I see of these dice,” he said and turned and walked away.

I watched and waited until he was out of earshot. “What's his problem anyway? He's given me nothing but grief since I first got here.”

“That is not surprising,” Simon replied. “He does not like strangers very much, especially those from the city.”

“The city? What's he got against Halifax?”

“Nothing against the city itself … just against people who come from that city … or at least one person,” Simon answered.

“What do you mean?”

“It is a long story. Come, I'll explain it all as we walk to the orchard.”

“The orchard?”

“Yes, that is why I'm here. I was told to come and get you on my way to the orchard.”

“You mean I get to leave here!” I exclaimed.

“That is what I was told. Will you be sad?” he chuckled.

“No way! I've had enough of sheep manure to last me a lifetime.”

“Good. It is perhaps good timing for you to leave. Most of the men know you did not cheat them, but it is hard to predict what people will do.”

Simon turned and started off and I fell into stride beside him.

“Do you know what we're going to be doing?”

“I know I will be tending to some new trees and cutting back some of the older growth. I do not know what you will be doing.”

“I didn't know you did trees. I just thought you tended to the flowers and things,” I said.

“Flowers, vegetables, trees. Anything that is growing. I learned all about these things from my father, who learned from his father.”

I couldn't help but think about the things I'd learned from my father—and what little good they'd ever do me.

“Your family isn't from around here, is it?” I said, commenting on his accent, which was different from the Scottish burr of a lot of the workers at the estate.

“No. My father is Dutch. Most of the gardeners are from Holland, although Mr. Bell has staff who are from many different countries. Some employers only want people to work for them who are from their own country. Mr. Bell does not care about such things. He only sees the man, not where the man is from. Which leads us back to the story I promised you about Isaac. Do you want to hear it?”

“Definitely.”

“Her name was Henrietta.”

“Whose name was Henrietta?”

“The woman who Isaac loved. She was from Marble Mountain, a community not far from here.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, Isaac was courting Henrietta, hoping to someday make her his wife. I was told she was a very handsome woman.”

“Then why would she be interested in Isaac?” I asked. “He was not always old and wrinkled, you know. This was all much before my time here, but I am sure at one point in time he was a fine-looking young man, and she did return his interest.”

“So they got married?”

“They were to marry, but alas, it was not to be. While making arrangements for the wedding she met a man … a man from the city … and he swept her off her feet. She ran off with him in the middle of the night.”

“Good for her, getting away from both Isaac and that hick town!”

“Poor Isaac could not believe she had left either him or Marble Mountain. He said she would come to her senses and return and he would wait for her.”

“And?”

“He's still waiting,” Simon chuckled.

“I guess that explains Isaac, but what about some of the others?”

“Come now, I am sure not everybody has treated you badly.”

“Not everybody. Casey and Mrs. McCauley-Brown and Mr. McGregor and a couple of the other staff in the house and you …”

“And Mr. Bell, surely?”

“I don't know if you could call it friendly. He's pretty unusual.”

“Yes, he is. Geniuses almost always are, and he is a true genius. You have to remember, this is a very small community. I've been here more than fifteen years and am still seen as an outsider, so you can hardly expect to fit in after a few days.”

“I don't want to fit in!” I protested.

“Which may explain part of the problem. I know this is not your home, and from your attitude and comments I understand you do not wish to be here, but you must remember, when you say negative things or comments about being here you are also insulting the people who live here … in these, how did you say, hick towns.”

“I wasn't trying to insult anybody.”

“Maybe not trying … but you have succeeded anyway.

People are proud of where they are from. They cannot easily separate themselves from the place where they
were born. When you say disparaging things about Baddeck, you cannot help but belittle them. Try to keep a little distance between yourself and Isaac for the next few days. Okay?”

“Believe me, if I had my way I'd keep some distance from him for the next few decades.”

I
DECIDED TO FOLLOW
Simon's advice and stayed away from the staff house that night by helping out Mrs. McCauley-Brown in the kitchen and then staying there to eat a late supper. It was almost ten o'clock and most of the men, some of whom got up as early as five in the morning to start work, would be fast asleep. I said my goodnights and headed across the field to turn in. I figured I'd get up the stairs so quickly that even if the noise did wake somebody up I'd be in my room before they got up to investigate.

The black of the sky was punctured by a million shining stars, and the brilliant full moon lit a path for me. It was almost as bright as a road in Halifax, lit up with gas street lamps.

The windows of the staff house were all darkened and there was no sound except for the chirping of the crickets. It looked like my plan had worked. Quietly I opened the door and bumped into something. I looked up and found myself staring up into the eyes of a bear!

“
AAAAAAHHHH
!” I screamed and stumbled, landing heavily on the ground. I scrambled backwards, expecting the bear to come charging toward me, but instead it just stood there on its back legs, threatening with its claws, not moving, like … I heard laughter coming from the windows above my head.

“Goodnight, Billy, and don't forget to take the bear for a walk,” a voice floated out of the darkness, accompanied by more laughter.

On trembling legs I pulled myself to my feet. The bear stood there in the doorway, as still as a statue—or as still as a stuffed bear. Cautiously I moved toward the beast.

“What're you worried about … it won't be biting you!” somebody else yelled down, followed by more laughter.

I pushed past the stuffed black bear, which towered over my head. I ran up the stairs, into my room and slammed the door behind me. I wanted to just throw myself into bed, but first I had to change. I'd wet myself.

Chapter Seven

 

July 8, 1917
 

Dear Mother,

I hope everything is going well for you and Sarah. I am doing all right. This first week has been like a blur. I've been working all around the estate. Sometimes I help in the house, other times out on the farm, or chopping wood, or running errands. I'm not too sure how any of this is supposed to build my “character,” but I can tell you that this place certainly is filled with characters. Maybe the strangest of them all is Mr. Bell himself; he's downright different and the locals think he's “batty.”

The only interesting thing going on here involves them working on a special type of boat called a hydrofoil. It looks like a gigantic cigar with wings more than it does a boat. It is powered by not one, but two, aircraft engines. I heard that when they turn on the engines the sound inside the building is enough to rattle the fillings right out of your teeth. But it doesn't really matter though, because it's the one place on the whole estate where they won't let me work. I'm good enough to shovel sheep manure or weed gardens, or cut wood or even work as a helper when they're throwing fancy parties for their fancy friends, but not good enough to work on the hydrofoil. I really don't care anyway. I hear that the people working on it never take any breaks and work a lot longer than the rest of us. Because today is Saturday I only have to work until two o'clock in the afternoon, and those people working on the hydrofoil will keep on working while I'm in town having fun (don't worry, I'll have safe fun). I just thought I should write before going. I'll write again next week.

Billy

P.S. I have a room to myself, the food is good and Mrs. McCauley-Brown sends her regards.

I 
PUT THE PEN DOWN
on the desk and closed the lid on the ink. Deliberately I hadn't said anything about my father. It was doubtful he was at home and even if he was I didn't have anything I wanted to say to him. I fanned the letter in the air to dry the ink before I folded it and sealed it in an envelope. After the letter she'd written to me I didn't really want to write her, but I had no choice. Mrs. McCauley-Brown had told me she wasn't going to give me my pay packet until I showed her a letter to my mother. I waved it in the air a few times, figuring that should dry it enough. A few little bits of smudging wouldn't stop my mother from being able to read it or me from getting paid.

I'd heard from a couple of the other workers who lived in Baddeck that I could expect some cards or dice to be going on in one of the back rooms of the hotel. I looked at myself in the mirror. The way I looked was important.

I had to look old enough to get into the game, but young enough that the other players would see me as a “mark.” It wasn't going to be like on the train. I'd been so anxious to win that I'd forgotten half of what I'd learned. Tonight I'd be patient and wait for the right time. Being greedy or in a hurry only leads to trouble.

I opened the top drawer of my dresser, moved aside underwear and pulled out my dice. I hadn't used them around the estate since that last game up at Sheepville, but that didn't mean I couldn't use them in town. I squeezed them for luck and then secured them safely in my pocket. Next I stuffed the letter in the envelope and hurried down the stairs and toward the main house. Hopefully not just my pay, but also a ride to town would be waiting there— I didn't want to waste another minute.

“
HOLD STILL
!” Mrs. McCauley-Brown ordered as she took a facecloth and scrubbed away at some dirt she'd spied on my cheek.

“Come on, you're taking off skin!” I protested, but she continued to scour away.

“Just a little bit more. There, clean enough to go to town.” She crossed the kitchen and dropped the cloth in the sink. “I imagine this is what you've been waiting for,” she said, pulling out a brown envelope, my pay packet, from her pocket.