The Missing Book (5 page)

“I have an easy solution to that,” Joe said. “My father could ask Mr. Miller to drive all of us over in the wagon. Mr. Miller usually doesn't do much work on Saturday anyway.”

“And you really don't know why the Lesters are going to Bryson City?” Mandie asked her sister.

“Tha's what I said,” Irene replied, pushing back her dark hair.

“What if they have relatives they are going to visit over there?” Faith said. “And suppose they are planning to spend the night?”

“Then we probably can't go,” Mandie said.

“I've never heard of any relatives of the Lesters living over that way,” Joe said. “I believe their relatives are all in the other direction, toward Buncombe County and on beyond.That's where they came from when they moved here a couple of years ago.”

“I suppose we'll have to wait and see what your mother finds out, Mandie, when she talks to Mrs. Lester,” Faith said.

Irene shuffled her shoes around in the dirt. “I don't know why everyone all of a sudden wants to go to Bryson City with the Lesters just because I want to.”

“That's because we're so isolated here in Charley Gap, Irene, that we take every opportunity to get away,” Joe explained.

“It's a long, rough road,” Irene reminded them.

Mandie didn't want to get into an argument with her sister—though she believed Irene was trying to start one. Instead, she asked, “Who do y'all think will win the class poet title?”

“I just don't know. There were several really good poems read,” Faith said. “And lots of applause.”

“But the applause was terrific for every poem. We can't judge the winner by that,” Joe said.

“I have already decided whom I'm going to vote for,” Mandie said.

“Remember, you are supposed to vote for the poem, not for the person,” Irene cautioned.

“Of course I know that,” Mandie told her.

The ladies came outside and prepared to leave, Mrs. Woodard and Mrs. Rogan with Joe, and Miss Abigail with Faith in her cart.

“I'll see you at church on Sunday. I hope Mrs. Lester is there so your mother can talk to her,” Faith called back to Mandie.

“If she isn't we can always go by her house,” Joe added as he drove his mother's cart.

Mandie turned to go inside again. Her mother and Irene had already gone through the back door.

Now, if she could just avoid her mother long enough for her mother to forget about her book, maybe her mother wouldn't think of it later. But still, Mandie was going to have to do something about it.

5

Poetry Secrets

THE NEXT MORNING Mandie woke to a chilly room. As she reached down to pull the quilt up around her, she saw that it was not daylight. Only a faint glimmer of sky was showing through the window. Apparently her father had not yet built up the fire in the cookstove in the kitchen, which warmed the whole house, especially the upstairs, because heat rose.

“I'll just wait for Daddy to warm up the house,” Mandie said to herself. As she started to turn over she almost smashed Windy, who was nestled under the edge of the quilt.

“Meow!” the cat protested, jumping away.

Mandie reached for Windy and pulled her back under the covers. “It's too cold to get up yet,” Mandie whispered.

Windy snuggled up beside her and went back to sleep. Mandie lay awake, thinking about the day's work ahead of her. Her mother had said they would work on last year's clothes to get them ready for summer, and Mandie was not enthusiastic about all that work. Maybe her mother would postpone the sewing, since the weather had turned cold again. After all, it was only March, and the Nantahala Mountains would not warm up until sometime in May.

The weather could still be cold next Saturday, the day when the Lesters would be going to Bryson City, and Mrs. Lester might cancel their journey until it was warmer. Then Mandie had another thought. If they didn't work on their summer clothes today, her mother might decide she and Irene would not be able to go with the Lesters next Saturday, because that would be an all-day trip with no time for anything else.

“Oh, shucks!” Mandie groaned to herself as she realized they would have to do the sewing today. She pulled the quilt over her head and went back to sleep.

The aroma of perking coffee woke her later. She quickly sat up to look at the window. It was daylight now, but there was no sign of the sun. “Must be cloudy,” she mumbled to herself as she slipped out of bed and began dressing.

Windy sat up on the covers and began washing her face. Irene was still asleep.

Mandie hurried down the ladder and into the kitchen, where she found her father sitting at the table drinking coffee and going over some papers.

“Good morning, Daddy,” Mandie greeted him. “Are you doing some paperwork?”

“Good morning, my little blue eyes,” Mr. Shaw answered, shuffling through the papers. “No, not really. I'm just going over our list of what has been done at Mrs. Chapman's house and what else needs work over there.”

“You men are almost finished with everything, aren't you?” Mandie asked, going to the stove, filling a cup with coffee, and coming back to the table.

“We're getting close. But take a look out the window,” Mr. Shaw said.

Mandie looked outside. “Do you think it's going to rain?” she asked, coming back to the table and pulling out a chair.

“Rain? No, I don't think so. Those are snow clouds if I ever saw any,” Mr. Shaw explained.

“Snow? But, Daddy, it's March,” Mandie said in surprise.

“I know, but we have had some bad snowstorms in March, maybe not since you can remember,” he told her. “And of course everything here in Charley Gap comes to a standstill when that happens.”

“Oh, Daddy, I hope it's not going to snow,” Mandie said, frowning as she sipped the hot coffee. “We're going to vote for the class poet Monday, and if it snows that bad we won't be able to get to school.”

Mr. Shaw smiled at her. “Maybe it won't snow much after all. So your class is going to have a class poet. Where did Mr. Tallant get such an idea?”

Mandie smiled. “I'm not sure. We had to write a poem and read it in class yesterday, but we didn't have time to vote. Mr. Tallant said we would vote on Monday for the class poet.”

“And are you hoping to get the title?” Mr. Shaw asked.

Mandie shrugged. “Oh, no, Daddy, I don't want to be class poet. I might have to keep on writing poems and reading them in class.”

“And you wouldn't like to do that?” he asked.

“No, because I don't want anyone to read my poems,” Mandie said, and then stopped. She had never told her father she wrote poems.

“So you write other poems too,” her father said, looking at her closely.

Mandie dropped her gaze. She couldn't lie to her father. “Yes, sir,” she said in a low voice, holding her coffee cup with both hands.

“Now, that is really interesting. You have never let me know that you wrote poetry. Where are these other poems?” he asked.

Mandie cleared her throat. “They're not available right now.”

Mr. Shaw laughed. “In other words, you have them hidden away somewhere, right?”

Mandie blew out her breath and finally looked at her father. “Oh, Daddy, they are just dumb little poems I write for myself every now and then, so I don't want anyone else to read them.”

“I would like very much to read some of them, Amanda,” Mr. Shaw said, taking a sip of coffee. “You see, when I was young I also used to write poetry.”

“You
used to write poetry, Daddy?” Mandie was astonished.

“A long, long time ago,” he said, frowning thoughtfully.

“Could I read some of your poems, Daddy?” Mandie asked.

Mr. Shaw cleared his throat. “They're not available right now.” He tried to be serious.

Mandie laughed. “Well, when they are available could I read some of them?”

“I suppose so, if I am allowed to read some of yours when
they
are available,” Mr. Shaw replied.

Mandie started giggling, and Mr. Shaw burst out laughing. And at that moment Mrs. Shaw came into the kitchen.

“My, my, what's so funny this early in the morning, and with snow on the way besides?” she asked as she took a cup down from the cupboard.

Mr. Shaw immediately stood up and reached for the cup. “Sit down. I'll get your coffee,” he told her, going to the stove to fill the cup.When he looked at Mandie, she tried to send him a silent signal not to tell her mother about the poetry. He seemed to understand.

“You may be right about that snow coming,” Mr. Shaw told Mrs. Shaw.

“Won't make much difference today. We've got all that sewing to do,” Mrs. Shaw replied.

“Will we get it all done today?” Mandie asked.

“A big part of it, I suppose,” Mrs. Shaw said. “With the days getting longer now, we can do some more on afternoons when you girls don't have much homework. Now, you run upstairs and wake your sister and I'll see about getting breakfast started.” She stood up.

“Yes, ma'am,” Mandie replied. She quickly left the room and climbed the ladder upstairs.

“Irene, wake up. Mama said for you to get up,” Mandie told her sister as she reached to pat her legs under the covers.

Irene rolled away from her. “I'll get up in a little while.” She turned over.

“Irene, it looks like it's going to snow,” Mandie said.

Irene opened her eyes and sat up. “Snow? It's not going to snow.” She stared out the window. “Is it?”

“Daddy thinks it might.” Mandie started toward the ladder. “Now, don't go back to sleep. Mama is cooking breakfast.” She looked back. Irene was still sitting there, looking out the window.

Mandie returned to the kitchen. “I woke her,” she said.

“Now get the dishes down and set the table, Amanda,” Mrs. Shaw said, filling a pot with water and setting it on the cookstove.

Mr. Shaw was rolling out the dough for biscuits on the cabinet top. Mandie was hoping he had not mentioned her poems to her mother. As she placed the plates on the table, her father glanced at her and winked. She smiled back, hoping that was the signal that he had not discussed their conversation with her mother.

After breakfast was over and the table was cleared, Mrs. Shaw told the girls to bring down some of their summer dresses from the closet upstairs. Then she measured the length of the dresses. Mandie had grown only a couple of inches since last summer, and the deep hems on her dresses could be let down. But Irene had grown at least six inches, and even after the hems had been ripped out, her dresses were too short.

“We'll just have to add a frill around the bottom of that one to make it long enough,” Mrs. Shaw told Irene as she stood there in a pale blue cotton dress.

“A frill? Won't that look tacky?” Irene asked, frowning as she looked down at her skirt.

“No, because I'll put a ruffle around the neck to match it. Why, people will think you've got a new dress,” Mrs. Shaw replied.

Mandie was busy ripping out the hem on one of her dresses.

“And, Amanda, we only need to let half of that hem down to make your dress long enough,” Mrs. Shaw told her.

“I'm glad my dress had such a big hem,” Mandie remarked, finally getting to the end of the ripping.

Mr. Shaw had been out to the barn. Now he came back into the kitchen, blowing on his hands. “It is getting cold out there but no sign of snow yet.” He hung up his coat and hat on the peg by the back door.

“Well, maybe it won't come,” Mrs. Shaw said, measuring a piece of material to make the ruffle for Irene's dress. “I thought you were going over to work on Mrs. Chapman's house this morning.”

“We were supposed to, but John Knight is the one designated as the driver today, and he hasn't shown up yet,” Mr. Shaw replied.

Mandie wanted to go with her father if he went to work on Mrs. Chapman's house, but she knew she would never be allowed to go today. All this ripping and sewing had to be done.

“He has a long way to come down that mountain, so he probably decided he'd better wait and see if it snows,” Mrs. Shaw replied.

“Maybe so,” Mr. Shaw agreed, and went to put more wood into the cookstove.

At that moment Mandie heard a wagon come into the backyard. She looked out the window and saw Mr. Lester and Tommy step down from the vehicle. “It's Mr. Lester and Tommy,” she told her father, who was looking across the room. She noticed Irene's eyes lighting up.

Mr. Shaw hurried to open the back door and let them in. “Come in, come in. How about a cup of hot coffee?” he welcomed the visitors.

“That might thaw me out. It's cold out there,” Mr. Lester said, removing his hat and turning to Mrs. Shaw. “Morning, ma'am.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lester. Why didn't you bring Mrs. Lester with you?” Mrs. Shaw asked.

“She took one look out the window this morning, decided it was going to snow, and declared she was not going outside,” Mr. Lester replied.

The men and Tommy sat down at the table with coffee.

“I haven't seen anything of John Knight yet,” Mr. Shaw said.

“That's why I'm here,” Mr. Lester replied. “One of his boys came down to the house this morning to say his pa is not feeling well and was afraid it might snow. Since I live nearer to the mountain than you other men, he asked me to inform you all.”

“I suppose we should just forget about doing any work over there today. I don't believe there's any hurry now to get things finished. Mrs. Chapman more than likely will be moving to Tellico and won't even go back to live in the old house,” Mr. Shaw said.

“Did she get the job?” Mandie asked.

“No, Amanda, she has to go for an interview next week, and then she'll know whether she got it or not,” Mr. Lester explained. “I came by Miss Abigail's on the way over here and Mrs. Chapman had just received word to come for the interview.”

“Oh,” Mandie said in a disappointed voice.

“Maybe she'll get the job and then y'all won't have to finish the work on her house,” Irene said, looking straight at Tommy, even though she was speaking to his father.

“I don't know about that,” Mr. Lester said.

“No, Irene, there are things that still need to be done to keep the old house from deteriorating further,” Mr. Shaw said. “We have lots more work to do whether Mrs. Chapman moves away or not.”