A Summer of Sundays (10 page)

I scooted over and flung back the covers. He grinned and dove in beside me, squinting his eyes closed, though I knew it would be a while before he fell asleep. I picked up the book and skimmed through the words. I was glad he was tucked in next to me, but there was a tiny part that was annoyed. With Bo here, I wouldn’t be able to read more of the mysterious manuscript until tomorrow.

“Sunday?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“I can’t fall asleep.”

“You haven’t even tried. You just came in a minute ago.”

Who was I kidding? There was no way he was going to fall asleep with the lamp glowing. I set the book down on the nightstand and flicked off the light. Then I carefully
pulled out the manuscript pages from underneath the pillow and slid them under the bed. In the morning, I’d hide them under the mattress again.

Bo cuddled up next to me and I could faintly smell the toothpaste that he’d gotten in his hair before bed.

Bo yawned. “Will you tell me a story, Sunday?”

I closed my own eyes and told Bo about what I’d just read. Lilly and the boy, Mark, were becoming friends. She had just dared him to eat a dog biscuit, which he had done, throwing up afterward.

“Gross,” Bo whispered. His voice was soft and I could tell that he was slipping off to sleep. I liked remembering the story even if I couldn’t tell it with the same beautiful words and images that I had read. I told a little more. How Lilly had hidden in the woods away from her dad, who wasn’t a very good dad and had yelled at her something awful.

“She was crying all alone by a tree. Crying until no more tears came out. Crying until her nose and eyes were swollen and her stomach ached. When she finally went home, she made herself a peanut butter sandwich, slipped quietly into her room, and fell asleep. When she woke up in the morning, there was a little flower on her windowsill.”

I stopped and listened. Bo’s breaths were even and deep. Tucking the covers higher underneath his chin,
I glanced out the window at the sky dotted with stars, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep, too.

After lunch the next day, I helped Mom wipe down the bookshelves and stain the desks that Dad had sanded smooth. Dad was busy with another desk, and Jude sat at the new computer, helping Miss Jenny install programs and get the library’s Internet service up and running.

“The Internet’s working now,” he told her. “When the new cataloguing system arrives, I can help set it up on some of the other computers for you.”

“That would be really helpful.”

Dad walked over and watched Jude click away on the keys. He put a hand on his shoulder, then rubbed his hair. “Thanks for all your help.”

I could tell that Jude was surprised by the gesture at first, but then I worried that if he smiled any wider he might strain his cheek muscles.

“Sunday,” Mom called, holding out a book. “We must’ve missed this one when we were sorting. Have you read it?”

I set down my paintbrush on the drop cloth, walked over, and took the book from her hand. The paperback cover was worn around the edges with a small tear on
the back. As I fanned out the pages, the musty smell blew across my face. Some of the pages at the beginning were starting to come loose.

I loved it already. “
The Life and Death of Birds
? I haven’t read it, but I’ve heard of it.”

“That was one of my favorites,” Miss Jenny said, looking up from the computer.

Mom smiled. “I remember loving it, too. You know, the author lived here in Alma.”

I glanced over at where the portrait now leaned against one of the walls. Dad had taken it down and covered it with a cloth so that it would be protected while we worked. “You mean the woman in the portrait?”

“Yep. Lee Wren,” Miss Jenny said. “I would’ve loved to have met her.”

Mom reached for her sandpaper. “Anyway, I know how much you like to read. You should try it.”

I put the book in my backpack. “Cool. Thanks.” My heart gave an excited skip. I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of starting a new book or the fact that my mom noticed something about me. But I was already looking forward to cuddling under the covers and sinking into the pages.

At four o’clock, Dad made us all quit. Mom went back to the house to start dinner, Dad cleaned up, and Jude and I
tried to decide what our next step was going to be. None of the authors we’d written to had sent a letter back yet, and though the thought of befriending Ben Folger tickled on the edge of my brain, I couldn’t figure out where to begin.

I handed Jude a cookie and a glass of milk, then we went outside and sat on the porch stairs. I took a bite. “I think I need to talk to him.”

“Who?”

I pointed across the field at the house.

Jude choked on a piece of cookie. After taking a swig of milk, he shook his head. “If you want to die.”

“Come on, Jude. He can’t really be dangerous. And even if he does have a sword in his cane—”

“A knife.”

“Whatever. Even if he does, he’s not going to hurt us.”

“And what about the curse?”

I shrugged. “I doubt there is a curse.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sunday.”

Maybe it wasn’t, but I had to do something to make my mark. Time was creeping away from me. And then there was the manuscript. There was no reason that the author couldn’t be Ben Folger. And if that was the case I would have befriended the local hermit and discovered that he was also a really good writer.

“Well, I’ve got to try,” I said, looking down at my cookie.
“I think I’ll bring some of these over. Dad always says that nothing melts the heart like cookies on a plate.”

Jude laughed. “But you have to have a heart to melt. And I don’t think Ben Folger has one.”

Ignoring him, I went inside, took out a paper plate, and set five cookies on it. Then I covered it with plastic wrap, ran a brush through my hair, and made sure that my brothers were occupied with something so they wouldn’t tag along and get in the way. Luckily they were so busy making paper airplanes they didn’t even hear me open their bedroom door and peek in.

“I’ll be back in a little while, Mom,” I yelled from the front door. “Come on, Jude.”

“I don’t know, Sunday. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Fine, scaredy-cat. You stay here.” I held the plate in front of me and started across the field.

“You can’t go that way!” he yelled after me. “He’ll see you coming.”

“Well then, show me a better way. But with or without you, I’m going. So decide.”

He groaned and caught up. “You’re impossible.”

I smiled, satisfied, and followed after him.

At first, I thought he was leading me on some sort of wild-goose chase. We walked downtown (in almost the exact opposite direction of Ben Folger’s house) and said hello to Ms. Bodnar as she closed up the café.

We continued on in silence and finally came to a deadend road. Jude stepped into the overgrown weeds that quickly turned into a forest of tall trees. It was getting darker by the second.

“Where are we going?”

He stopped and turned. “Ben Folger’s,” he whispered. “It’s right through these trees. Unless you want to turn back.”

I straightened, clutching my plate of cookies so that Jude wouldn’t see the way my hands were shaking. “No, I’m fine.”

“Now, be quiet. Who knows if he’s lurking out here.”

I held my breath and tried to step carefully, avoiding as many dried twigs and old leaves as I could.

Jude ducked behind a bush. “There it is,” he whispered.

Clouds had moved in, and the sky had darkened even more. The windows looked black and the porch swing banged against the siding.

“What should I do now?”

He looked over at me. “How should I know? You’re the one who wanted to come here and talk to him. And it doesn’t even look like he’s home.”

“Maybe he isn’t.”

Just then a light flicked on in the front window. My heart raced. I found it hard to steady my breathing. The sound of the triangle clanged from across the field, making me jump. Mom was calling everyone in for dinner.

I didn’t have much time. But what if he really did have a sword in his cane, or I did disappear after I crossed over to the other side of the hedge?

“Are you going or not? Dinner’s probably ready at my house, too, and my mom is gonna kill me if I’m late.”

“Maybe we should see if the curse is real first.” I picked up a pinecone and tossed it over the hedge. Jude and I watched as it landed and rolled a few inches. I looked at him and shrugged. He picked up a rock and did the same thing.

Thud
.

“Here goes,” I whispered.

“I’ll be the lookout.”

I crawled the length of the hedge, one hand awkwardly holding the plate of cookies, until I could see the front door looming ahead of me. A solitary light glowed behind the closed blinds—the rest of the house was eerily dark. Nervously clutching a fistful of grass, I whispered to myself to stand up: “Come on, you can do this, Sunday. On the count of three. One. Two—”

Adrenaline rushed through my legs and arms, my toes and fingertips.

Jude whispered over to me. “Sunday?”

I turned to him. “I’m all right.”

My heart sped up and my breaths came shallow and shaky. The door wasn’t too far away, just down the stone
walkway. But first I had to pass through the small white gate that was level with the thick hedge. I forced my foot forward one step, and then another. Holding my breath and closing my eyes, I pushed the gate forward and took a step onto Ben Folger’s property. I opened one eye and then the other. I hadn’t disappeared.

“I made it!” I whispered back to Jude.

There was no curse.

Turning back to the house, I clutched the paper plate, now sagging in the middle from the weight of the cookies, and started down the walkway to the porch, and then up three steps to the door. Everything would be fine. No one could resist chocolate chip cookies. Not even an old hermit who maybe ate stray cats and tortured intruders in his basement.

I knocked on the door, my heart doing flips inside me, my hands trembling. I tried on my best smile, the one I wore when I used to sell cookies for my Girl Cadet group.

The sound of footsteps shuffle-tapped closer.

The knob turned, and a sliver of dim light peeked out through the barely opened door. A blue, clouded eyeball magnified by glasses looked out at me.

“Well? What do you want?”

“Um,” my voice squeaked. It took all I had to keep from sprinting back to my house.
Is he reaching for his cane?
“I … I thought I’d bring you some cookies. They’re, um … they’re homemade. Chocolate chip.”

The door didn’t open any wider. The man behind it said nothing.

“I’m … I’m Sunday. Sunday Fowler. My family and I moved here for the summer. We’re fixing up the library.”

I thought I saw one bushy eyebrow rise ever so slightly. Still no answer.

“I thought you might like some cookies and—”

“Go away. I don’t buy cookies from anyone.”

“What? I wasn’t—”

“I said, GO. Away. Get off my property.” His voice was low, gravelly, and dripping with meanness.

“But—I just wanted to—”

“I said, get off my property! Now. If you don’t—” The door opened wider, and Mr. Folger’s voice grew louder. He took a step forward and held his cane in one hand. I watched in horror as he reached for it with the other hand, but didn’t wait a second longer. My legs carried me off that porch and down the walkway, cookies flying off the plate. “Run, Jude,” I yelled. “Run for your life!”

The only thing I heard over my own panting was, “I better not see you on my property again! Ever!”

Jude and I stopped when we reached the neatly clipped lawn of the library. I sank to the ground, trying to catch
my breath. It sounded like Jude was about to have a heart attack right then and there.

“I told you,” he said between gulps of air. “I told you he was nasty.”

“You were right.” I thought of Ben Folger’s face, snarled up and mean as a badger, and cringed. Maybe befriending a hermit wasn’t such a good idea.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” I looked toward my house, the kitchen glowing warm and cheery. Dinner had started by now.

Jude must’ve been thinking the same thing.

“I gotta go, Sunday. My mom’ll be wondering where I am and then she’ll have Wally out looking for me.”

I nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

He disappeared into the gathering dark. It took another minute for my heart to slow back down.

Butters met me at the door, barking and wagging and slobbering. Mom’s high-pitched laughter pealed from the dining room. That was good. At least she wasn’t stewing quietly because I was late. I might as well come in on a high note. I found everyone digging into beans, rice, and tortillas.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, starting to take my seat next to Bo. Mom stopped me.

“Oh, Sunday. Before you sit down, could you grab the other jug of milk in the refrigerator for me?”

I forced a smile onto my face. “Sure.” Mom and Dad always seemed to remember my name when they wanted me to do something for them.

She unscrewed the cap and poured Henry another glass. “So where were you?”

“I told you I was going out for a bit.”

“Yes, but I rang the triangle. Didn’t you hear it?”

I felt my cheeks fill with heat. “Yeah, but I was right in the middle of doing something.”

Dad passed me the tortillas. “And what was that?”

“I was taking some cookies over to the man who lives in that house across the field.”

CJ’s fork dropped onto his plate with a loud clank. “You went over there? You know that guy’s crazy, don’t you? He eats raw animals and has a sword inside his cane, and the curse—”

“CJ,” Mom said.

“But it’s true. I met a kid named Parker today and he knows all about Old Man Folger. He said that when anything’s thrown over the hedge—”

Mom sighed and set her glass down on the table with a loud thud. “I said stop.”

CJ sulked and mumbled a quiet “—it disappears.”

“He’s probably just a lonely old man who doesn’t want
kids prowling around his property and bothering him. I think that was very kind of you, Sunday, even if you were late for dinner.”