That sound—had someone called my name?
In this tired and demented state, I saw her: Aunt Jessie. She was standing—or floating, rather—near some trees, and as I went toward her, she moved on, leading me through the woods, but never letting me catch her. In a small clearing, she spread out her arms, or so it seemed, and vanished. I lay down in the clearing and slept.
At daybreak, I made out the shape of the Sleepy Bear Rock high above on the ridge. I was well below the trail, in one of the larch groves, surprised to be alive, surprised to feel so comforted: I had seen Aunt Jessie!
CHAPTER 40
GET THAT HORSE
When I saw the cabin, I was so tired and hungry I didn’t care who lived there. I kicked at the door but couldn’t budge it.
“Anybody around?” I called. “Hey—?”
I pulled at the shuttered windows, but they were too firmly fastened. All I could see through a slim crack was a shelf on the opposite wall. On it: a pot, a book, and—there beside the shelf—oh there—on a hook—oh, it was wonderful, oh, it was terrible, terrible. It was Aunt Jessie’s coat.
I was out of there so fast I could have caught air.
I stopped at my campsite only long enough to grab the wire cutters, a length of rope, and some apples before starting for home. On the way, I was going to get that horse.
Oh that coat! The sight of that coat! That instant joy, that instant horror!
I ran down the trail, past Sleepy Bear Rock again, across Baby Toe Ridge, through Crow Hollow, on and on. I thought, Aunt Jessie’s alive! She lives there! I tore down the trail. No. Someone else has her coat. Uncle Nate gave her coat to that woman!
When I reached the meadow, there was Willow, pawing and pacing. I coaxed her to take an apple, and she didn’t much like my putting a rope on her, but when I cut the fence and led her through, she swung her head high and proud, as if to say, Out of there at last! We rode down the trail toward home, where I tied her to a tree by the creek before going on to the house.
“Zinny! We’ve been waiting!” Bonnie said. “We’re going to the circus, and we thought you forgot. You have to watch Uncle Nate. And guess what—Jake was arrested! Isn’t it awful? He’s not in jail now, but he might have to go to Juvenile Court. Isn’t it awful? Do you think he’ll go to jail?”
Sam said, “Jake stole a car. He’s in big trouble.”
“Tell her about Bingo,” Ben said.
“Oh!” Bonnie said. “Ben saw Bingo—you’ll never guess where! In Mr. Butler’s car! Ben thinks Mr. Butler stole our Bingo, but Dad doesn’t think that could possibly be.”
“We’re going to find out, though,” Ben said.
“Right!” Bonnie said. “Dad says we can go over to the Butlers’ after the circus.”
My old spaghetti swamp was so tangled it was as if someone had thrown me in it and tied me up in a zillion knots.
“There you are, Zinny,” Mom said. “You look a wreck! Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I lied.
“Did the kids tell you about Jake? Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”
“Mom,” Gretchen complained, “May’s wearing my jeans. Make her take them off.”
“Zinny, let me sort out Uncle Nate’s stuff with you. He has to take this medicine three times—”
Will pulled on my sleeve. “Jake was arrested.”
May hovered near the door. “He didn’t actually steal that car. He just borrowed it. I know the whole story. He confided in me.” She said this with a studied air, as if it were extremely significant.
“Zinny,” Dad said, “We have to talk when we get home—”
“Aren’t we going to the circus?” Sam wailed.
After they’d left, I slipped into Uncle Nate’s room. “Lucky you,” I said. “I’m in charge of you today.”
“I know it.”
The phone rang. “I’ll be right back,” I said.
“Ain’t going nowhere,” he mumbled.
“That’s what you think.”
It was Jake’s mother, who wanted to know if Jake was at our house. When I said he wasn’t, she said, “Are you sure—which one are you?”
“Zinny. Yes, I’m sure. No one here but me and Uncle Nate.”
“That boy will be the death of me yet. He’s supposed to be grounded, and I mean grounded, except to go to work. He didn’t come home last night, and Mrs. Flint just called and said he hasn’t shown up for work. I’m calling the sheriff. Are you sure he isn’t there?”
“I’m sure. Just me and Uncle Nate. You don’t think anything has happened to Jake, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t know what to think. If you see him, tell him to get over to that store right away. And Zinny—”
“Yes?”
“Tell him he’s got a lick of explaining to do.”
From my closet, I snatched the medallion that I’d taken from the metal box in Uncle Nate’s drawer, and then I went up to the barn where I knew there was an old bridle. I had hoped there might be a saddle, too, but there wasn’t. I retrieved Willow, led her down to the house, and tied her to the porch railing.
“Okay, Uncle Nate, let’s get a move on. We’re going for a ride.”
“Do I look like I’m in any condition for a dag-blasted ride?”
“You said you wanted to go on the trail—”
His eyes opened wide.
“I saw her,” I said. “I saw Aunt Jessie.” I guess I should have told him what else I saw, but I didn’t.
“Tarnation!” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. “Dag-blasted legs.”
I had second thoughts. “How are you ever going to make it? You can’t do it—”
“I can!” he said. “You gotta take me.”
“But your leg—”
“You gotta, pumpkin. You gotta!”
I pulled him upright and, inch by inch, we made it to the porch, though Uncle Nate had to stop every few feet and lean against the wall. “My heart’s a-jumping,” he said. “Where’d that horse come from? You’re not going to try to get me on that thing, are you?”
It wasn’t easy, but Willow was obliging and patient as I pushed and pulled and shoved Uncle Nate up on her back and climbed up behind him.
“Ain’t it supposed to have a saddle?” he said.
“We’ve got these reins—don’t need a saddle.”
“Let’s go then,” he said. “Let’s get a move on—”
CHAPTER 41
THE RIDE
At the edge of the creek, when I turned the horse up the start of the trail, Uncle Nate said, “You taking me up there? Way up there?”
“That’s where I saw Aunt Jessie, so that’s where we’re going.”
“Okay,” he said, “but you’re awful bossy lately.”
On up the trail we rode under an overcast sky.
He kept slumping forward against the mare’s neck and I had to pull him upright, fearing that he’d slide off. He insisted on clutching his stick, which regularly poked my leg.
“Can’t we drop that stick?” I asked him.
“Nope. Might need it.” It jabbed my foot. “Lookee there, you’ve gone and cleared the whole dag-blasted trail. Why’d you go and do that? Where does this lead anyway?”
“You know this trail perfectly well,” I said.
“Don’t talk about it.”
“You’ve been up here lots and lots of times.”
“Not this way,” he said. “Not on this-here trail.”
At the spot where I’d discovered the medallion, I pulled over. “See that rock? You’ll never guess what I found there—”
“I know what you found.”
“You do?” I said. “What?”
He waved his stick at the hole. “That thingy—that coin thingy.”
“Where’d it come from?” I asked. “Who put it there? Do you know?”
Uncle Nate craned his neck around to look at me. “Pumpkin, you put it there. Are you being a noodle?”
That chi
ll, that shiver returned. “When?” I asked. “When did I put it there? And why? And—”
“Hold your taters,” he said. “I cain’t keep track of all those questions. You don’t remember putting it there? You don’t remember how you scared us all half to death?”
I saw myself running, running. I was very small. Something was in my hand. I could feel it there pressed against my palm. Rose had been in the drawer—
“Pumpkin?” Uncle Nate said. “You remember?”
I had touched Rose’s hand and when I did, I saw the leather pouch beneath it, and inside the pouch, the medallion. That hand, it was so stiff, so unlike Rose’s hand. I grabbed the pouch and left the house. Out of the house, up the hill.
“Pumpkin?” Uncle Nate repeated. “It was when Rose died—”
“Shh,” I said. “Wait—” I wanted to see how much more I could remember. Running, running, tripping, falling, stumbling. Clawing at the dirt, burying the pouch, finding the stone to mark the spot, sitting there calling Rose, Rose, Rose—
Uncle Nate said, “We couldn’t find you—it was terrible, terrible—”
I couldn’t remember anything more. “Who found me?”
“Me and Jessie. We found you sitting there. We took you home—”
“So how did you know what I’d buried there?”
“I’m nosy,” Uncle Nate said. “I came back. I looked.”
We rode on through the hills, into Maiden’s Walk. I was thinking about the medallion, fingering it in my pocket, wondering why it had been in Rose’s hand, and why I kept seeing two medallions in my mind. Around the edges of these thoughts, I saw glimpses of a circus tent, like the one my family might be entering now.
We reached the meadow and approached it cautiously, to be sure the owner hadn’t yet discovered his missing mare or his clipped fence. No sign of anyone.
Uncle Nate said, “Somebody oughta mend that fence,” and then, “What’re you doing? Ride around it.”
“We’re riding the trail, and the trail goes through here.”
“Did you put these stones in here? Where’d you get this horse?”
“Uncle Nate—was there another medallion—were there two of them?”
“Pumpkin, I cain’t talk about it—” He stared straight ahead.
“But why not? Do you know what the initials meant—TNWM?”
“’Til Next We Meet—” There was a catch in his voice, a muffled low sound at the back of his throat.
’Til Next We Meet, ’Til Next We Meet. I saw the circus again, a tent, a table with a brightly colored cloth. I saw two medallions.
In the distance, dark clouds were gathering, and I nudged the horse into a slow trot. “Bumpy dang thing,” Uncle Nate said, sliding this way and that. “My heart’s jumping.” On we went, through the rest of Maiden’s Walk, and through Crow Hollow.
“Uncle Nate, where did you go, you and Aunt Jessie, when you came up here—?”
He shook his head. “Cain’t—”
“And why did Aunt Jessie stop coming?”
“Her legs was bothering her.”
We crossed Baby Toe Ridge, where we stopped and gave the horse a rest. The wind whipped across the hillside, and I wished I’d thought to bring jackets. Uncle Nate was shivering.
“Shouldn’t be out riding in my pajamas,” he said.
“We’d better turn back,” I said. “This isn’t a good idea—”
He waved his stick in the air. “We ain’t turning back! We ain’t! We’re going up there—”
“Have you been meeting someone up here?” I asked.
He tapped my leg with his stick. “You’re so dang nosy all of a sudden—”
“Were you?” I pressed. “Were you?”
He whispered, “Yes.”
He might as well have hit me over the head with a sack of coal. “What’s she like?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“The woman—that woman—the one you were meeting.”
“You are out of your noodle, pumpkin!”
“Zinn-eee! Zinn-eee!”
Shouts came from beyond the railroad tracks, nearly sending us out of our skins. I think we both thought it was a ghost. Willow’s ears flattened against her head.
“Zinn-eee! Zinn-eee!”
“Should I answer?” I said.
Uncle Nate gripped his stick. “Well, we cain’t just dig ourselves a hole—”
I called out, “Helloooo—”
Straggling toward us came Jake, covered in briars and scratches. “Zinny, Zinny!”
“What happened? What’s the matter?” I thought maybe he’d murdered someone, from the look of him.
“Zinny! Where’ve you been? I’ve been up here all night looking for you. I thought maybe you got lost or got eaten by a bear or—or who knows what could have happened to you. You weren’t supposed to go home again yet. It hasn’t been ten days.”
Had it been Jake’s voice I heard calling me last night? “Mom asked me to come home today. I’m watching Uncle Nate. And what are you doing up here?”
“Aww, Zinny—” He put his hand on my arm. “I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want you to be all by yourself.”
I remembered May standing in the kitchen saying, I know the whole story. He confided in me. I slugged Jake. “Let go,” I said. “I’ve gotta take Uncle Nate somewhere.”
“Then I’m coming too.”
“It’s a dag-blasted party,” Uncle Nate said.
“Hey, Zinny, where’d you get this horse?”
CHAPTER 42
THE CABIN
Uncle Nate was quiet as we turned off the trail and rode down through the larch groves, with Jake walking beside us. “I saw Aunt Jessie down there,” I said, “at the bottom of the hill.”
“She sure gets around,” Jake said.
I pulled up in sight of the cabin. I wasn’t sure what to think, anymore. I didn’t know what to expect.
Uncle Nate stared at the cabin. “I made it!” he said. “I made it!” He twisted and fidgeted, trying to get off the horse.
“Wait a sec—” I said. “Wait—”
“What’s this all about?” Jake asked.
I wanted to turn around and go home.
“My heart’s a-jumping,” Uncle Nate said.
“Zinny, does he look funny? Nate?”
Uncle Nate lay on the bed in the cabin, as Jake and I tried to revive him. Jake had kicked in the door and carried Uncle Nate inside. I feared Uncle Nate was going to die. Had I done it again?
“Jake—he’s going to live, right?” I said. “He’ll be okay, right?”
Jake didn’t answer. He searched for Uncle Nate’s pulse. “Nate? Nate?”
Everything was swirling around: the bed and Uncle Nate and Jake. Pictures on a dresser, cushions on a chair, toys, the coat.
I grabbed Uncle Nate’s hand. “You’d better not die. You’d better talk to me.”
He mumbled something that I couldn’t understand.
“Hear that?” I said. “He’s trying to talk. He’s not going to die, is he?”
Uncle Nate whispered, “Our place.”
“Whose place? Who lives here?”
He blinked. “Rose—and Jessie—and me—”
I shrank back, staring at him.
“Cripes!” Jake said. “Cripes!”
Uncle Nate blinked. “No drawer—” He tapped my wrist. He seemed very earnest; he wanted me to understand.
“Uncle Nate? The drawer—? Why did Aunt Jessie climb in the drawer? Did I scare her? Was it the snake?”
He didn’t answer.
“Was it the medallion—was that it? Because she had last seen it in Rose’s hand—?
“In the barn,” he whispered, “she thought you were Rose—”
“But I wasn’t! I’m not! I’m not Rose!”
“Rose coming to get her—”
I could hardly bear it. “How awful, how terrible—”
He tapped my wrist again. “No—she wanted Rose—she want
ed to see her—”
“Cripes!” Jake said.
“Three nights,” Uncle Nate said, “three nights she heard Rose calling. Rose said, ‘Get ready…’”
“Cripes!” Jake said.
Uncle Nate said, “That doctor said Jessie had a diabetic comma—”
“Coma, you mean?”
“Whatever—she forgot to take her insulin—or she took her insulin and forgot to eat, one of those, and that doctor said she went into that diabetic comma thing.” His eyelids fluttered. “But I know better. She was pining for Rose—” Uncle Nate closed his eyes.
It hadn’t been my fault. He didn’t blame me. This hit me like a huge wave breaking down on me, washing me over, pushing me to shore. But still, I didn’t like to think that I had been there, living and breathing, and still she might have preferred to be with Rose. “What about me?” I said.
“Pumpkin, you’ve got a mother—” He groaned once, and drifted off.
Prickly stings went all through me. I turned away. “Do something!” I begged Jake. He leaned over Uncle Nate. As he did so, the row of pictures on the dresser caught my eye. I looked closer. I knew these people.
There was Aunt Jessie and Uncle Nate. There was baby Rose. Dozens of framed photographs. Aunt Jessie’s lotions. Her perfume. Her hand mirror.
I felt so cold, so cold.
Aunt Jessie’s coat on the hook. Her sewing basket on the floor. And there, beside the wardrobe was a shopping bag, and in it were toys and stuffed animals. I lifted them out, one by one. They were familiar to me. I’d seen them, handled them, played with them.
On the shelf, in the pot, was a tiny baby bracelet with the letters R-O-S-E, resting on a pink crocheted bonnet. The book next to it was an album filled with photographs of baby Rose: cradled in Aunt Jessie’s arms; lying on a white blanket; sitting next to Uncle Nate on the sofa—on and on. And then, there it was: a photograph of me and baby Rose, hobbling across the living room doing the old lady.
Next to the pot and the album was the little black box, and in it was Jake’s ring. I snatched it up, handed it to Jake.