Jackson and Emily nibbled cheese and crackers as they watched their lunch disappearing behind the heavy black veil.
“I suppose,” said the widow, “that it’s hard for your aunt to make a living way out here, so far from town.”
“Oh, she does all right,” said Jackson. “She raises sheep and chickens.”
“Lucky, lucky woman,” said the widow, and stuffed half a corn muffin in her mouth. “Not like me. I just live from pillar to post, wherever I can find a bed. The only money I have in this world is what I collect in my tin cup, and that’s precious little.”
When the children said nothing, the woman continued: “Still, I suppose there are many expenses when you run a sheep farm, and if the roof went tomorrow, your poor aunt wouldn’t have a penny to replace it.”
Jackson chuckled. “She could replace it, all right. Could buy herself a hundred roofs if she had to.” Emily kicked him under the table, knowing that Aunt Hilda didn’t like the children to brag about their money. Jackson coughed and reached for another cracker.
“We were lucky when the tornado hit that it didn’t do more damage than it did,” said Emily quickly.
“My, yes,” said the woman in black. “I was huddled in a ditch when that twister came by, praying that it would take me and let me join my dear departed husband, so sad has my life become.” She sniffled a little and dabbed at her eyes beneath the veil.
When she straightened up, she said, “I don’t suppose you could spare a poor widow woman a few dollars to speed her on her way?”
Emily and Jackson looked at each other uneasily. They had no dollars lying around, because they never needed any; there was no place close by to spend them. The only way for them to get a few dollars was to move the big rock and dig up the wooden box with the coffee tin inside it. And they would never, ever do that in front of a stranger.
“I’m afraid we can’t,” said Emily. “Aunt Hilda takes care of the money.”
The widow nodded sadly. “Yes, yes, of course. But … what if something should happen to your dear sweet aunt? I mean, an accident with her horse and wagon, perhaps. Surely you must know where she keeps some of her money, or how would the two of you survive?”
Emily was beginning to feel very uncomfortable now. Her mother had died in a horse-and-carriage accident, which was why she had come to live with Aunt Hilda in the first place. Jackson looked wary too.
“The bank would take care of us,” he said.
“Ah! The bank, is it? Your aunt Hilda must be a very wealthy woman indeed if she has enough money to put in a bank,” said the widow, her voice a bit louder still.
But then she dabbed at her eyes again beneath her veil and sighed. “Well, my dears, I must be on my way, for I have a long, sad road ahead. Do you think you could possibly give me some privacy so I can wash up a little here at the sink before I go? I’m so dusty.”
“Of course,” said Emily, glad to hear that the woman was leaving. She got a towel and put the washbasin in the sink along with a bar of soap. Then she and Jackson went into the parlor, closing the kitchen door behind them. They sat on the sofa listening to the pump handle going up and down, and water splashing into the basin.
“I don’t trust her,” Jackson said finally. “She asks too many questions.”
“She’ll be gone soon,” said Emily. “At least we gave her our lunch. Aunt Hilda will say that was the kind thing to do.”
They sat waiting some more, listening. The splashing of water had stopped, and the house was absolutely quiet. Finally Jackson got up, tiptoed to the door of the kitchen, and opened it just a crack.
“Jackson!” Emily whispered, shocked. Did this boy have no manners at all, to peep in on a woman who was washing up?
But a moment later he turned to Emily, and his eyes were huge.
“Emily!” he whispered, and motioned her over, one finger to his lips.
Emily tiptoed to the kitchen door and peeked through the crack. There was the tall widow woman, standing at the washbasin with the towel in her hands. The hat was still on her head and the veil was still over her face, but she wasn’t wearing her gloves, and her sleeves were rolled up to her shoulders.
And there, on one big arm, was a tiger tattoo!
Emily almost screamed but caught herself in time, for Jackson was pulling her off into a corner.
“Jackson!” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“It’s Uncle Victor! What are we going to do?”
“Shhh!” Jackson said. “Don’t let him find out we know.”
“What do you mean?” Emily whispered back. “We know exactly why he’s here. If he can’t get my ten million dollars one way, he’ll get it another. He just wanted to search the house.”
Jackson nodded. “He knows your aunt’s smart enough to keep your money in a bank, but he figures we’re hiding some of it here, and he aims to find it.”
“And if he’s been hanging around town in widow’s clothing, he knows just what days Aunt Hilda goes to market, and that’s when he came out here,” said Emily.
They sneaked back to the crack in the doorway and peeked into the kitchen again. Noiselessly, Uncle Victor was opening cupboard doors, one after another, searching each shelf, digging his big hand into a spare pitcher and poking his finger into the sugar bowl. Then he checked the flour bin—which was easy, because it was almost empty.
“What we need to do,” Jackson told Emily, “is play along. Act like we don’t know who he is. It’ll go better for us.”
But Emily wasn’t so sure. She knew now that Uncle Victor had been searching under Aunt Hilda’s bed, looking for money. He had probably checked under the mattress and gone through all her dresser drawers as well. And what if he got it in his mind to take Emily’s little turtle, Rufus, and threaten to kill him unless she told where the money was hidden?
“I’ve got to get Rufus, just in case,” she told Jackson, and slipped out the parlor door.
Emily hurried around the house to the little pen she had made for her turtle. She remembered how Uncle Victor had tricked her once before by threatening to kill her turtle if she didn’t obey. She wasn’t going to take any chances. Emily picked Rufus up and slipped him deep in her apron pocket.
“You’ll be safe here,” she whispered. How she wished that Aunt Hilda were home!
Should she even go back in the house? she wondered. How long could Uncle Victor go on pretending he was a widow woman and being nice? Maybe they should run and hide while they could. She slipped back inside to suggest it to Jackson, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps he had already run away, and she was alone with the person she disliked most in the whole wide world.
Jackson must have gone out looking for her, but after a while he came back and sat down beside her on the parlor sofa. A minute later, Uncle Victor came out of the kitchen. The sleeves of the dress were rolled down again and the gloves were back on his hands.
“I feel so much better after my little rest,” he told the children in his woman’s voice. Goose bumps rose on Emily’s arms just hearing it, now that she knew who it belonged to. “You were so kind to give me lunch. Do you think I could have a little tour before I leave? I would love to look around this charming place.”
“I … I think it would be better if Aunt Hilda were here,” Emily said.
“Just a little walk,” Uncle Victor said. “I’m sure your aunt Hilda wouldn’t mind, now that you’ve brought me this far.”
“Sure,” said Jackson. “Step right this way.”
Was Jackson crazy? Emily wondered. Did he really think he could outwit the man with the eyes of a weasel, the growl of a bear, and the tiger tattoo on his arm?
Emily followed Jackson and Uncle Victor, her heart going thumpa-thumpa-thumpa all the while.
The only reason the “widow woman” wanted to walk around the property was to look for places Aunt Hilda might be hiding her money, Emily knew. What if he guessed?
“Such a beautiful day!” said Uncle Victor in his womanly voic
e. He was more lively now. “It makes me feel young again.”
“Then I’ll bet you’d like the creek,” Jackson told him. “That’s where Emily and I go to catch crawdads.”
He led Uncle Victor to the very back of the yard, where a bit of the creek flowed through. It was here that they had built a dam out of rocks to make their wading hole a little deeper, and a bridge of stepping-stones to get to the other side.
Something looked different, however. The dry white tops of the stones that led from one bank to the other had disappeared; it looked as though someone had turned each stone upside down. Instead of a nice dry top sticking above the water, each stone was covered with shiny green moss.
“I know you’ll want to see our cows out there,” Jackson said to Uncle Victor, pointing to the pasture, and motioned for the “widow woman” to go across.
Uncle Victor picked up his skirts and put one big foot on the first stone. But the minute he stepped forward onto the next one, his foot slipped out from under him and down he went in the water, his black dress soaked to the waist. Emily watched in horror.
The cry that came out of Uncle Victor’s mouth sounded first like that of a man, but it quickly changed to “Goodness gracious!” and Uncle Victor picked himself up.
“Oh! Let me help you,” Jackson said, reaching out one hand.
But Uncle Victor said, “I don’t think I want to see the cows. I’m a lady not used to creeks and such. Why don’t we keep to the yard?”
Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa went Emily’s heart, but she heard herself saying, “I think you would like Aunt Hilda’s flower garden, then. Ladies always like to walk through the garden.”
Uncle Victor was trying to squeeze the water out of his skirt as they walked along. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Let’s see the garden.”
Aunt Hilda was very proud of her flowers, Emily knew. It was a big garden, with petunias on one side and geraniums on the other and lots of roses in between.
Jackson took right over. “Ladies first,” he said, and directed Uncle Victor down the very middle of the garden, on a path with rosebushes on either side. The branches reached out, almost touching each other, and as Uncle Victor walked deeper into the garden, his long black dress caught on the thorns. When he tried to get the dress free, they pricked right through the black gloves on his big hands.
Now the howl was a man’s howl indeed, but Uncle Victor recovered enough to say, “Drat those flowers! I don’t think I want to see any more.”
“So sorry,” said Jackson. “You need a little rest before you go on your way, Widow Woman. Come sit on the swing. Ladies always like a turn on the swing. And the breeze will help dry your dress.”
Uncle Victor seemed to be growling under his breath, Emily could tell. But he followed them across the yard to the big tree. When he sat down on the board swing, the branch sank low, and his big feet dragged on the ground.
“We’ll both push,” said Jackson, and together he and Emily pushed Uncle Victor higher and higher until the skirt of the black dress blew up almost over his head and his big hairy legs showed above the tops of his stockings.
“Stop! Stop!” he bellowed, trying to hold the dress down with one hand and keep the hat and veil on with the other.
But the next time he sailed forward, the hat with the veil flew right off, and with a roar, Uncle Victor sprang from the swing and went flying to the ground, his boots making a loud thud as he landed. And when he turned to face the children, he wasn’t playing “widow woman” any longer.
“Uncle Victor!” Emily cried, only pretending to be surprised. But she didn’t have to pretend to be scared. She could feel her legs shaking.
“Okay, you miserable little wretches, you listen to me!” roared her uncle. “I’m through being nice. I want to know where Hilda hides her money, and don’t tell me it’s in the bank. Nobody keeps all her money in a bank. Now where is it?”
And when neither of the children answered, Victor strode across the yard, the wet black dress making smacking noises against his legs, and grabbed Jackson by one ear. Jackson yelped in pain. Spook growled and nipped at Uncle Victor’s ankle, but the man with the tiger tattoo only kicked him away.
“Where is it?” Uncle Victor bellowed, and he sounded like a whole jungle full of lions, all roaring at the same time.
“It’s … it’s … in a coffee tin,” Jackson said, wincing in pain.
Emily gasped. “Jackson! No!” she whispered.
“Show me!” Victor yelled, and when he let go of the boy’s ear, Jackson started toward the big rock in the middle of the yard.
But he didn’t stop at the rock. He went on over to the cottage and pointed to the porch steps. “Under there,” he said.
Uncle Victor pushed him aside and got down on his knees in the black dress. He reached around under the steps.
“I don’t feel any coffee tin,” he said.
“A little more to the right,” said Jackson.
“Where? Where?”
“A little farther,” said Jackson.
Uncle Victor stretched his arm in as far as it would go and suddenly there was a loud snap. The man with the tiger tattoo howled with pain and pulled his arm out. There was a rattrap fastened to his fingers, and he flung his arm this way and that until the trap fell off.
“You good-for-nothing scalawags!” Victor cried, and reached out to box Jackson’s ears.
But Jackson ducked and said, “Okay, maybe it’s not under there. I think I heard her say it was in the barn beneath the hay.”
“Show me where!” Uncle Victor demanded, and again Jackson led the way, Uncle Victor and Emily close behind, with Spook growling at Victor’s heels. With every step, Emily felt more and more frightened. Uncle Victor would be very angry if Jackson tricked him again, and she knew the money was not under the hay.
They walked into the big dark opening of the barn, and Jackson pointed to the haystack. “Somewhere under there,” he said.
Uncle Victor rushed greedily toward the big stack of hay in one corner. He grabbed an armful and threw it over his shoulder. Then another and another.
But on his fourth grab, he suddenly gave a big “Yeow!” and sprang backward. It was then that Emily saw the sharp ends of a pitchfork someone had hidden under the hay, and there were prick marks along the arm with the tiger tattoo.
Uncle Victor was furious. He whirled around to strike Jackson, but this time Emily stepped forward.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said. “I’ll tell you where Aunt Hilda keeps the money. In a wooden box.”
“Emily, no!” whispered Jackson. “Don’t tell.”
“Where?” bellowed her uncle. “Don’t waste my time or you’ll be sorry!”
Emily led the way out of the barn and pointed in the direction of the big rock, but her eyes looked beyond it, and Uncle Victor went where she was pointing. He walked right over to a large wooden box sitting on a bench and opened the lid.
Instantly a dozen bees flew out, and then a dozen more.
“A beehive!” roared Uncle Victor, but the children were already running up onto the porch and into the cottage. With a bee on his back and another on his neck, Uncle Victor swatted at them as he ran, and charged into the house behind Emily and Jackson.
But they had already reached the parlor and quickly climbed up the ladder to Jackson’s loft. By the time Uncle Victor swatted off the last bee and reached the parlor, Jackson had pulled the ladder up after them.
The man with the tiger tattoo stood on the rug below, his weasel eyes flashing, his sharp teeth grinding, his fists clenched. A low growl came from his throat.
“I want that money before your aunt Hilda gets home,” he said. “And you’re going to tell me where it is. If you don’t …”
“Yeah, what?” Jackson taunted.
“If you don’t, then first, I’ll take an ax to Hilda’s parlor. I’ll smash the sofa, smash the chair, smash the windows …” His eyes went from one piece of furniture to the next, and Emily was afraid he w
ould notice the drawer of the lamp table with the gold watch inside. He would certainly take that watch if he found it. “And after I smash the parlor to pieces,” Uncle Victor continued with a cruel smile, “I’ll pull that big old table in from the kitchen, I’ll climb up on top of it, and I’ll start smashing you!”
Emily couldn’t bear to imagine anyone smashing Aunt Hilda’s cottage to pieces, but she knew that Uncle Victor was just mean enough to do it. And she had to get him away from the lamp table. With her uncle shouting and Spook barking, she could hardly think what to do.
She swung her legs over the edge of the loft and looked down at her uncle. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell.”
“The money is in a tin can in a wood box buried in the ground,” Emily said.
“Emily!” Jackson cried, his eyes huge. “We were never supposed to tell!”
“Aha!” said Uncle Victor. “Now you’re getting smart. Get down here, you musty maggots, and show me where to dig.”
“Emily, we promised!” Jackson pleaded.
Emily said nothing. As Jackson lowered the ladder and Emily climbed down, he came after her, still whispering, “No, Emily, no!”
She led the procession outside and around the house to the storm cellar. She reached down and opened the heavy door.
“Down there?” Uncle Victor asked, puzzled.
“It’s a dirt floor,” she told him.
“Well, that Hilda’s a sly one, I’ll say that!” Uncle Victor told her. He grabbed a shovel that was leaning against the house and motioned for the children to go down first. “Show me where to dig, and stay out of my way,” he said when they reached the bottom.
“Right there in the middle,” said Emily.
“You’ll have to dig pretty deep,” said Jackson.
“And you’ll have to dig fast if you want to reach it before Aunt Hilda gets back,” said Emily.
“If she finds out we told you, we’ll get the strap for sure,” said Jackson. “We could get the hoe and spade and help.”