Puddlejumpers (20 page)

Ernie shook his head, then reached under his pillow and pulled out his Ernie Banks baseball card. He showed it to Russ.

“Hmm, Ernie Banks—any relation to somebody I know?”

Ernie smiled and shook his head, then passed one hand in front of the other and the card disappeared.

“Wow,” said Russ, impressed.

Ernie reached behind Russ' ear and produced the card. Russ slapped his thigh and laughed appreciatively.

“Man-o-man, how in the world did you ever do that?”

Ernie smiled crookedly. “Trade secret.”

He propped the card against the lamp on the adjacent nightstand. Russ took note of the watch next to it. Rocky Harmon's face was disfigured, his arms broken. “Well, you're really good at it.”

Ernie sat up a little straighter. “Listen, Mr. Frazier, about what happened today, you know, the Cadillac and all…I was hoping maybe you wouldn't have to tell anybody, you know, in Chicago.”

“What happened this morning I guess we'd all just as soon forget. As far as I'm concerned, you and I are working on a clean slate. Fair enough?”

Ernie nodded, relieved.

“Good. Tomorrow I want you to meet some friends of mine from the barn. They know a little magic, too,” said Russ.

“Okay. There's one other thing I was wondering about.”

“What's that?”

“Joey told me you played baseball for the Tigers. Is that true?”

Russ shook his head with a smile. “She's exaggerating, but I did play for the Toledo Mud Hens, their triple-A team.”

“What position?”

“I was a pitcher.”

“So am I.”

“No kidding? How's your curveball?”

“Not so great. The fastball is my best pitch.”

“Well, if you'd like, I'll show you a few of my trade secrets. You bring your glove?”

Ernie shook his head.

“No worries,” said Russ. “I know just where to get one for you.”

Ernie nodded. He could hardly believe his luck.
A pitcher!

“All right then, good night, Ernie. Pleasant dreams.” Russ turned out the bedside lamp and started to leave.

“Mr. Frazier?” Ernie sat up in bed. He wanted to talk about the abandoned hideout and the mysterious puddle and the cedar chest and Snow White and…but at the last second he blurted, “You think it's ever gonna rain?”

“I'm praying for it just about every second of the day,” said Russ, silhouetted by the light from the hall. “Think you can do some talkin' with the Man upstairs?”

“I don't think He listens,” answered Ernie.

“I know, sometimes it feels that way, but that doesn't mean we don't keep trying.”

Ernie nodded.

“See you sunrise. I got a rooster tends to crow on the early side,” warned Russ, then closed the door behind him.

Ernie settled back to his pillow, but he wasn't sleepy. He was more awake than he'd been in a very long time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Kingdom Come

D
EEP IN A FIELD
of stunted wheat, a puddle glistened in the moonlight. The water rippled just before Root and Runnel vaulted feetfirst out of the puddle, landing like a secret between the furrows. Instead of shaking themselves dry, they rubbed the excess water into their chapped skin, cherishing the moisture. In these days of drought, there wasn't another surface puddle within a hundred miles, and it had taken all their resources to make this one. The anxious Puddlejumpers knew it was dangerous to venture into the Up Above, but they felt it was a necessary risk. They sniffed cautiously in all directions before setting out.

The soft amber light from their lantern lit the way down through the wheat. In the distance, there were rumblings of thunder and flashes of heat lightning. The Jumpers emerged at the farmyard and went straight to the back of the house, where they scampered up a drainpipe onto the window ledge. Root and Runnel stared wide-eyed through the glass. Inside, the old crib room was dark.

The little ones squeezed past the screen, then, using all their strength, pried open the window and slipped into the room. They scooted up the leg of the bed onto the mattress, then tiptoed to the edge of the pillow, where they could study the boy's face by lantern light. His eyelids were flickering and his breathing was steady. On his head was a blue cap with a red
C
stitched on the front.

Through the years Runnel had wondered what Wawaywo would look like when he grew up, and now she thought she knew. Root wasn't convinced. He jumped to the nightstand and inspected a card propped against the lamp. It was a picture of a dark-skinned human wearing the same cap as the boy. On the bed, Runnel warbled excitedly, her hand on the Acorn bulging beneath his T-shirt.

Suddenly Ernie turned in his sleep, pinning her with his arm. Root leapt back and tried to free her, but the arm was too heavy. Flipping on his back, he pushed it with his legs until Runnel could wriggle free. Ernie stirred again and they slid down the bedpost to the floor. Just above, his foot was jutting off the mattress. Standing on tiptoe, they gripped his sock and coaxed it off. There, wound into the ball of his foot, was the Spiral Tattoo, the very one Runnel had stitched so many years before. Enraptured, they traced the spiral with their fingers.

“Wawaywo,” they whispered. Their Rainmaker had returned.

But there was a very big problem. The boy was six times their size and wouldn't remember anything about them or his life in the Kingdom.
How could he?

In the next instant, Ernie sat up in bed and scratched his foot. The window he'd closed to silence the constant chirping of the crickets was now open, and the curtains billowed with a gust of wind. Feeling like someone was in the room, he flicked on the lamp, then cautiously got out of bed to shut the window. A lightning flash illuminated something on the glass. Perplexed, he inspected more closely.
Tiny handprints!.
He looked down to discover a dusty trail of miniature footprints leading back to his bed, where he found his sock on the rug. He listened, waiting for the intruder to make the next move.

Something rustled under the bed.

Holding his breath, he peered underneath. Just then the door squeaked open, which in the dead quiet sounded like a scream. He nearly jumped out of his other sock.

Ernie peered down the hall. It was empty. The only sounds were the ticking grandfather clock and Russ' snores. With his heart pounding like a jackhammer, he padded down the hall into the living room. Another door squeaked open. He hurried through the dark into the kitchen, where he found the cellar door ajar. A light went on downstairs.

Grabbing a broom for protection, Ernie slowly descended the cellar stairs. The lit bulb was swinging on its cord over the workbench, casting macabre shadows back and forth. Snow White and all the baby paraphernalia lay scattered on the workbench. Suddenly the storm door banged closed, sending his heart to his throat. He scrambled across the cellar and up the steps to peek out the storm door. Thunder rumbled across the plateau and a flash of heat lightning provided a glimpse of something small scurrying into the field.

Determined to see whatever it was, Ernie gave chase. He raced up through the wheat, pursuing shadows he could no longer see. When he finally reached the split-rail boundary fence, the moon was hidden behind the clouds. In the pitch-black night, he could hear the derricks pumping in the Holsapple wasteland. He pinched his nose. There was a terrible odor like nothing he'd ever smelled before. Suddenly something huge erupted from the dark with an unearthly howl. He raised his broom in defense, but before he could swing, the behemoth batted it away and clawed his chest, knocking him to the ground, hard. Feeling like his chest was on fire, he crabbed across the furrows, retreating in panic. He heard something small skitter through the wheat, but didn't see Root and Runnel grab his broom on either end and trip the beast just before it could pounce. When the giant landed, the ground shook with a violent thud.

Ernie wasn't sure what had just happened, but he didn't wait to find out. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted back down the slope. A wicked howl knifed along the plateau, followed by a strange and mournful hooting.

It haunted him all the way back to the farm.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Bigfoot

I
N HIS JUMBLED DREAM
, a strange sound was coming out of Mrs. McGinty's mouth as she angrily screamed in his face. She was ten feet tall and had claws and grungy red hair covering her body. When he woke, he realized the strange sound was a rooster crowing in the yard. Somebody was holding a cup of hot chocolate and shaking his shoulder. “Morning, Ernie—time to make this day sing.”

Gaping wide-eyed, Ernie sat up in the big easy chair next to Russ' bed. He looked around the unfamiliar room. He was still dressed, but one foot was bare and a dirty sock dangled from the other.

“Was there a problem with your bed?” asked Russ, puzzled as to why the boy had come into his room during the night.

Ernie realized where he was, and felt ashamed that he'd been too afraid to sleep by himself. “Morning,” he mumbled, then jumped out of the chair, sprinted down the hall, and shut himself in the bathroom. There was a knock on the door. “Ernie, you all right?”

“Yeah,” he answered, then lifted his shirt and stared at the bloody claw marks scarring his chest. He wasn't all right. Not by a long shot. Shuddering, he clutched his Crystal Acorn, still on the shoelace around his neck. He looked at his face in the mirror and saw pure terror looking back.

It wasn't a dream after all.

Ernie stayed close to Russ as they entered the gloomy barn. The only light came from sunlight streaming through cracks in the wall. It was like a spooky cavern with too many dark places. Something was crawling through the hay, and he heard a fluttering in the rafters. He jumped when Russ stopped him from nearly walking into a huge spiderweb.

“Careful,” said Russ. “Charlotte's been there a long time.”

The boy stared at the hairy black spider vibrating just in front of his face.

“Isn't she beautiful?”

“Yeah,” agreed Ernie, knowing that Mrs. McGinty would have killed it immediately and flushed it down the toilet. Russ grabbed a stool and pail from wall pegs, then sat beside the cow and took hold of the udder. “Mornin', Beulah.” He winked at Ernie. “This is Ernie Banks—you two are going to be working together.”

Ernie patted the cow's flank. “Hey, Beulah.”

“You want to be firm, but gentle at the same time,” Russ instructed, drawing several streams of milk into the pail. “Your turn, don't be shy.”

Smiling sheepishly, Ernie sat on the stool and reached under to grab the udder, but he was having a difficult time focusing on the cow. The night's events kept turning in his mind. There had to be some explanation. He'd read about a giant creature called Bigfoot and thought it was just a big hoax. Now he was having second thoughts. Remembering whatever that thing was that attacked him at the fence sent a prickle of fear up the back of his neck.

Russ' voice pulled him back to the barn. “Some days it's almost like somebody milked her before I got here—who can figure it? Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow.” He picked up the pail with its meager contents. “Come on, Ernie Banks. I'm putting you in charge of our feathered friends.”

Russ plodded out of the barn in his galoshes, but Ernie remained behind, his attention riveted on an old bear trap nailed to the wall. Reaching up, he gingerly touched its rusted teeth.

“Ernie?” Russ called.

Flinching, Ernie backed away from the trap, then hurried outside. He found Russ waiting for him inside the chicken coop, a small enclosure stuffed with tiers of nesting chickens that clucked and cooed. His nose twitched from the smell.

Russ chuckled. “You'll get used to it.” He scooped a coffee can into the feed bin and showed it to Ernie. “About this much, and don't forget to give 'em fresh water. Spigot's just outside. Make sure you shut it off tight—water's a precious commodity around here.” He looked at his distracted helper with amusement. “Ernie?”

“Yeah?”

“I'll need you to get the eggs once a day,” instructed Russ as he gently lifted the breast of a sitting hen and deftly reached underneath to pull out an egg. “Just reach under and pick 'em clean.” The hen obliged with a contented clucking. “Okay, give it a go.”

Ernie stared, lost in his own thoughts.

“Hey, partner, you haven't heard a word I've said. What's on your mind?”

There was a lot on his mind. A
whole lot.
Nothing seemed normal here, and now he was trying to decide if what happened last night was somehow connected to the Quilt Baby. He took a deep breath. “Has anybody around here ever seen Bigfoot? You know, that big old hairy Neanderthal people talk about?” Ernie was proud of himself for knowing the word
Neanderthal.
He'd sometimes used it at Lakeside when he needed just the right insult.