Searching for Silverheels (13 page)

“Me too,” I said, surprised at how much I suddenly wished it. I knew I should pull my hand away from his. Frank was leaving tomorrow, and I was going to the picnic with George, and that was all as it should be. And yet, I felt a tingle of electricity where our fingers intertwined, and a comfort and warmth all through me that I didn't want to give up. So I lay as I was, enjoying the feeling, telling myself no harm could come of it, since Frank was leaving tomorrow.

I closed my eyes, listening to the soft sounds of the night: the buzz and chirp of night insects, the rustle of field mice in the grass, the steady gurgle of the creek—and then the sudden, unexpected thump from the direction of the cemetery!

Willie, Frank, and I all sat up, our eyes alert and straining into the darkness. The moonlight was bright where we sat on the open creek bank, but the shadows under the trees were deep and played tricks on our eyes. Still, I thought I saw something moving. Frank and Willie were already on their feet, sneaking toward the cemetery in a stealthy crouch. I scrambled to my feet and followed.

They must have made a plan for catching Silverheels before I arrived, because without a word they separated, Willie going farther downstream. Frank waited a few minutes, then began moving up the short bank toward the level ground where the break in the picket fence allowed for easy entry into the
graveyard. I followed behind Frank, trying to stay low and move quietly but craning my neck to look for whatever had made the noise.

Frank spotted her first. I knew he had because he abruptly stopped, and I bumped into him. Every muscle in his body felt rigid. I followed his gaze, and I went rigid too. A tall dark figure stood among the graves at the back of the plot, framed in a beam of moonlight filtered through the trees. She wore a long black dress. A black shawl was draped over her head, obscuring any view of her hair or face. She stood there for only a brief moment before stepping again into the shadow, but it was enough to set my heart hammering harder than it ever had before. Silverheels! At last!

Frank grasped my hand and pulled me forward. Seemingly unaware of us, the dark figure walked among the graves at the back of the cemetery. Gradually, we crept closer. I was sure the pounding of my heart would alert her at any moment. Frank's hand was growing sweaty in mine. He was as nervous as I was.

We were still crouching low and moving forward stealthily, no more than twenty feet from her now. We could easily make out her shape, even in the shadows. I could hear the rustle of dry leaves under her skirt as she moved, so I knew she could not be a ghost. Then Frank stepped on a twig and it snapped. The Veiled Lady stiffened and turned her head in our direction.

“Now!” Frank shouted. He let go of my hand and leapt up.
The woman in black turned, gathered her skirts up, and ran. Frank was after her in a second.

“Wait! Stop! We just want to talk to you!” I yelled, but she kept on. I couldn't help but notice that she did not wear fine ladies' shoes, but sturdy boots. She was not nearly as small or delicate as I had expected either, but then many years had passed to change her figure.

She was making for the back of the graveyard where the fence had fallen down. She was nearly there when another figure stepped from behind a tree beyond the break, cutting off her retreat. He shouted, and I realized it was Willie! They had set up a trap, and now we had her!

The Veiled Lady hesitated for a brief moment, then veered to the right and took a running leap at a higher portion of the fence. She cleared it, and I thought she would escape, but the hem of her skirt caught on one of the slats. She seemed suspended in the air for a long moment, then she came crashing down in a heap of black fabric and collapsed fence pickets. She landed in a position nearly as unfeminine as the string of obscenities that spewed from her mouth. The voice, too, was unfeminine. And familiar.

“Orv!” I said.

Laughter exploded from the forest a few yards away, and Harry and Tom emerged.

“Why, Silverheels!” said Harry, looking down at Orv, who was trying to untangle himself from the black blankets they had made into a dress. “You are just the picture of beauty and
grace!” Then he doubled over with laughter again, slapping his knee.

I wasn't laughing. I felt much too foolish for having been taken in by their trick, so I was surprised when Frank began to laugh too.

“Those miners must have been pretty hard up if you were the prettiest thing they had to dance with,” he said, and he offered Orv a hand up. “You okay?”

Orv had gone down hard and his lip was swelling, but he didn't seem to mind. It was worth it, he said, to have seen the looks on our faces when we thought we'd been sneaking up on the real Silverheels.

“You kids are sharper than we expected though, I'll give you that,” he said, clapping an arm around Willie's shoulder. “I'd have made a clean getaway if you hadn't have been there.”

Together, we all started back toward the campfire. By the time we got there, we were all laughing. Russell still sat by the fire waiting for us. I wondered if he had been in on the whole thing too. I suppose he had. That's why he hadn't made Frank and Willie pack up and head back to town yet. Even though I knew the old-timers would give me a hard time about this for weeks, I was glad they had given Frank one more adventure to go home with. I wanted him to fondly remember his time here. And despite George's invitation to the picnic, I wanted Frank to remember me fondly as well.

W
e rode back to town by moonlight, Frank behind Russell and me behind Willie on our two horses. At the edge of town Willie and Russell took my borrowed mare back to the livery. Frank and I walked on ahead, since we figured Annie wasn't going to relax until Frank got back.

“Pearl,” Frank said suddenly as we neared the hotel, “if I gave you my address, would you write to me? Tell me everything that happens here?”

“Oh, yes!” I cried. Not that enough ever happened in Como to fill a letter, but it meant I wasn't saying good-bye for good. It meant he didn't want to say good-bye either.

“And look for Silverheels in the graveyard again—only next time, don't tell the old-timers beforehand.”

We both laughed. Frank could have said good-bye then and gone in, and I suppose he should have, given how worried his sister was, but instead we stood shuffling our feet, not wanting to part. I'd only known him for three days, but being with him felt comfortable, like an old friend.

“Promise you'll write back?” I said.

“I promise,” Frank said. “Wait here a minute.” He turned and ran into the hotel lobby, leaving me alone in the street. I glanced around. Next door at the café, I could see my mother sitting alone at a table by the window, reading a paper. She was waiting up for Willie and me. I looked back at the hotel, anxious now for Frank to return. I waited for a full five minutes before he reappeared, and when he did, I knew something was wrong. He was no longer laughing as he hurried down the porch steps and into the street. When he reached me he stuffed a crumpled piece of hotel stationery into my hand.

“You should go home now, Pearl,” he said, his voice anxious.

“What's the matter?”

Before Frank could answer me, the pool of light from the hotel doorway dimmed and I looked up to see Robert. He staggered forward to the front edge of the porch and bellowed Frank's name. The sour smell of whiskey reached me even at this distance, and I took an involuntary step back.

Frank stepped in front of me and turned to face him. “I'm coming,” he said. “Go on back inside.”

Despite his words, Frank stayed where he was. Robert lurched down the steps toward us and I took another step back. Frank did the same.

“Oh no you don't!” Robert growled. “You're not running away from me again. You've caused me enough trouble already, you little brat.”

“You're drunk, Robert. You should go to bed,” Frank said, his voice trembling a little.

Robert was still staggering toward us. I took another step back, grabbing Frank's shirt to pull him along with me. If we bolted for the café we might make it inside and lock the door before Robert could reach us. If only my father wasn't away on the mountain!

Before I could act, Robert lunged for Frank. Frank tried to dodge him, but I was right behind him. He bumped into me and I sat down with a thud in the street. Robert caught a fistful of Frank's shirt and started shaking him so hard his head snapped back and forth.

“You've caused us a lot of trouble today,” he growled.

Then there was a sharp
crack!
as a wooden spoon came down hard on Robert's knuckles. With a curse he let go of Frank. Out of nowhere my mother was between Robert and Frank, pointing the wooden spoon at Robert as if it were a deadly weapon.

“Take your hands off him,” she said in a low, steady voice that sounded every bit as dangerous as Robert's drunken growl had.

Frank staggered back beside me. I scrambled to my feet, scared of what Robert would do to my mother.

“Stay out of this, lady!” Robert growled. He moved to step around my mother, but she countered him and jabbed the spoon at him again. He stepped back.

“You'll not be laying a finger on this child again, so you may
as well go off to bed. He'll be sleeping at my place tonight. I'll have him ready to be on the train in time tomorrow morning,” my mother said.

Out of the darkness, Russell and Willie ran to us. They stopped a few feet away. The mean glare faded a little from Robert's eyes as they flicked from my mother to Frank and then to Russell and Willie. Then he staggered two steps backward toward the hotel. He gave us all one more look, spit in the street, and weaved his way back to the doorway.

Mother turned to Russell. “Thank goodness you came along when you did.”

“I think you had everything well in hand. You and Josie,” he said with a nod toward the newspaper office. Josie stood in the shadows, shotgun in hand.

“What about Annie?” Frank said. “I can't leave Annie with Robert when he's like that.” He took a step toward the hotel, but Russell held him back.

“I'll get her,” Josie said. “I'm not leaving a woman in that man's clutches.” She cocked the shotgun and walked toward the hotel, back stiff.

“You all get into the café and lock the door,” Russell said. “I'll go with Josie.”

“I don't need your protection, Russell McDonald!” Josie said.

“Are you kidding? I'm going to try to keep Robert alive,” Russell said, falling into step beside her.

Mother herded Frank, Willie, and me into the café and
upstairs and told us to get ready for bed, but we crowded into Willie's room instead. His window looked out over the street in front of the hotel, and we didn't want to miss a thing. Nothing this exciting ever happened in Como.

“How long do you suppose Josie was there with that gun?” Willie asked.

“She must have heard Robert shout, same time as Mother,” I said. “No wonder he backed down so quickly.”

“I don't know that Robert saw her either,” Frank said. He gave a nervous little laugh. “He didn't have to. I never saw anyone be so threatening with just a spoon.”

“It's like what Russell said about momma bears,” Willie said.

We waited in silence after that, watching the street through the window. In the darkness, Frank's hand found mine and clutched it. I squeezed it back to tell him his sister would be safe, since it was all I could do for him.

At last, Russell, Josie, and Annie came out through the hotel door, Russell's arm reassuringly around Annie's shoulder. Josie walked a few feet behind them, her shotgun resting across her crooked arm. Instantly Frank's hand was out of mine and he was running downstairs. Willie and I followed.

Russell took his arm from Annie's shoulder as she came through the door and hurried toward Frank. Her face was pale and she looked as if she might swoon. Frank put a supportive arm around her and guided her into a chair. She burst into tears. If Frank had been a little older and not her brother,
it would have been a scene straight out of one of my books.

“I'm sorry, Frank. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have left you here,” Annie said, sniffling into Russell's hanky.

“Shh. Annie, don't cry.” Frank said, his arm still tight around her shoulder. She dabbed at her eyes, then looked at my mother.

“I'm so sorry about Robert, Mrs. Barnell. I'm sorry he behaved so badly. He's just . . . With the war . . . And me so worried . . .”

“No need to apologize,” Mother said.

“He's not really like that, you know. I've never seen him drink so much before.”

My mother nodded but gave no further comment.

“He's not!” Annie insisted. “He's kind and funny, and such a good dancer!”

She paused as if she were only just hearing what she had said, then her hands went to her cheeks in alarm. “Oh, Frank, what have I done! I married a man I barely know, didn't I. But he was going off to war, and it was all so romantic!”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Frank pulled her head gently to his shoulder. “Don't worry, Annie. I'm sure when we get home you can explain to Mother and Father it was a mistake, and—”

Annie lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and dried her eyes. “No. I married him, I have a responsibility. A duty to him and to my country.”

“But he's dangerous, Annie!” Frank said.

She shook her head. “He hasn't hurt me. He hasn't hurt anyone.”

“But—”

“He's going to war. I married him so he wouldn't have to face that alone. I made a promise and I intend to abide by it. He won't drink when we get home.”

“Can you be sure of that?” Frank asked.

“I can hope,” Annie said. “Because I do love him. I love the man he was before we married, and if I keep loving him I believe he will be that man again. I suppose you think I'm a romantic fool, but that's how I feel.”