Absolutely Truly (9 page)

“So did you try out for swim team yet?” Mackenzie asked. “Or is Pumpkin Falls too small to have one?”

I made a face. “It has one, but I'm not on it yet.” I told her about the fiasco with my report card.

“Seriously?” My cousin's voice shot up about an octave. “Your dad won't let you swim unless your grade improves? That's harsh.”

“Tell me about it. And even if he changes his mind, I'll be super out of shape by the time tryouts roll around.”

“So when are they?”

“In a few weeks,” I replied.

“Can you get your math grade up by then?”

“I don't know. I hope so.” I glanced down at my bedspread and saw the envelope. I'd almost forgotten why I'd wanted to talk to Mackenzie in the first place. “Hey, this weird thing happened today at the bookstore.” I explained about the letter I'd found, holding it up so she could see.

“And you haven't opened it yet?” she shrieked in excitement. “What are you waiting for?”

“You really think I should?”

“Duh! Aren't you dying to know what's inside?”

I slid a finger under the envelope's flap and ripped it open. Inside was a yellowed sheet of paper with a quote on it. I read it aloud:

Why, what's the matter, that you have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?

“That's it?” my cousin said.

“Yup. Except for some numbers and letters underneath.” I read those aloud too: “PR2828.A2 B7.”

“Weird.”

“I know, right?”

“It isn't signed or anything?”

“There's a capital
B
, just like on the front of the envelope.” I held the sheet of paper closer to the laptop camera so she could get a good look.

“It's got to be a message for somebody,” said Mackenzie, her blue eyes sparkling. “Maybe it's a secret code—you know, spies or something.”

I laughed out loud. “Spies? In Pumpkin Falls?”

“It could happen,” she insisted.

“No, it couldn't.”

“Why not?”

“Because nothing ever happens here,” I told her.

“Well, something just did!” my cousin replied. “You've got a mystery on your hands, Truly!”

I needed to talk to my mother.

Hoping that she might be able to help me solve the puzzle, I headed downstairs, passing under the gaze of several centuries of Lovejoys as I did so.

“Obadiah, Abigail, Jeremiah, Ruth,” I chanted, reading the names on the brass plates embedded across the bottom of each of the frames. I slowed as I reached the last two in the lineup—Matthew Lovejoy and his wife, the original Truly. The stair tread creaked loudly as I took another step down, passing Matthew in his Civil War uniform—Union Army, of course—and coming face-to-face with my namesake's portrait. I squinted at it. Did I look like her? I guess our hair was sort of the same color, and we both had brown eyes, but if she'd had freckles like me, the painter hadn't added them.

My mother's voice drifted out from the kitchen, mingling with the clatter of dishes and silverware. “Someone's in the
kitchen with Dinah, someone's in the kitchen, I know-oh-oh-oh. . . .”

Uh-oh
, I thought, suddenly struck by a pang of guilt. Hatcher and I were supposed to have taken care of the supper dishes again tonight, but I'd gotten sidetracked by the envelope.

“Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah”—my mother held the high note for a long moment, then swooped down to the final stanza—“strumming on an old banjo.” Her voice was soft and sad, so different from the way Dad used to sing it. He'd always belt it out, tossing us a wink as he slipped his arm around Mom's waist and waltzed her around the room.

Singing and waltzing weren't so much on Dad's agenda these days. At all, in fact.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rang.

“Could somebody get that?” Mom called. “I'll be out in a sec.”

“Sure, Mom,” I called back.

I crossed to the front door and opened it, letting in a blast of icy air that nearly knocked me off my feet. A tall woman, nearly as tall as me, stood on our doorstep, dressed in a long black wool coat. Her head was wound so thoroughly in a black scarf that only her eyes were visible. They gleamed behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, darting around the hall.

Crow
, I thought. Most definitely a crow.

“Um, can I help you?” I said, as the woman brushed
past me and stepped inside. I closed the door behind her.

She craned over my shoulder, peering into the living room as if she were looking for someone.

“
May
I help you,” corrected my mother, emerging from the kitchen. She smiled at our visitor and held out her hand. “I'm Dinah Lovejoy, and this is my daughter Truly.”

“Yes, I know.” The woman shook Mom's hand, then extricated herself from her scarves, revealing a gaunt face sharply divided by a knife blade of a nose and topped with a pouf of teased hair that looked like it had been dipped in a pot of ink. She carefully patted it into place, her mouth pruning up in a thin smile. “Figured I'd drop this by on my way home,” she said, holding out a stack of mail. “I'm Ella Bellow.”

“Ahhh,” my mother replied, as if that explained everything. “Well, thank you so much, Mrs. Bellow.”

The woman looked around again. “I thought I might say hello to J. T., too, if he's in. I heard about what happened to him. We all did, of course. Such a pity. I've known him since he was just a nipper.”

I'd never heard my dad called a “nipper” before. I filed this away to share with Hatcher and Mackenzie.

“He's working late at the bookstore tonight,” my mother told her. “Inventory, you know.”

“Yes, I heard he and his sister were taking over the business. Things haven't been going so well at the shop, from what I understand.” She paused. “Not that times aren't tough
everywhere—Bud Jefferson over at the coin and stamp shop is struggling too.”

My mother's face flushed angrily.

“Think your family can make a go of it?” Mrs. Bellow continued. “I mean, what with J. T.'s condition and all?”

“My husband can do anything he puts his mind to,” my mother replied stiffly.

Our visitor's mouth pruned up again. “Well, I suppose time will tell. Good evening to you, Mrs. Lovejoy.” She nodded to both of us, then left.

My mother closed the door firmly behind her. “Well, of all the nerve!”

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Only the biggest busybody in Pumpkin Falls! Your grandmother warned me about her. She's the postmistress.”

“Is the coast clear?” someone whispered.

My mother and I jumped. Turning around, I saw my father peering out from behind the kitchen door.

“I came in through the barn,” he said. “Recognized her car in the driveway. I'm not up to one of Ella's interrogations. Not tonight.” He shook his head wearily.

“Truly, I think it's time for you to go on upstairs and get ready for bed,” my mother told me.

“What?! It's not even nine o'clock yet!”

“It's been a long day for everyone,” she added, with a slight but significant nod in my father's direction.

“But—”

“No buts, honey.” She gave me a gentle push toward the stairs. “Go on now.”

I hesitated. I could tell my mother was worried about Dad, and I was torn between a wish to be obedient and a burning desire to enlist her help with the mystery envelope.

Obedience won out.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said meekly. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, sweetheart.” She stretched up to kiss my cheek, then followed my father into the kitchen.

I started upstairs, then paused, listening to the murmur of my parents' voices. Something was clearly up. I snuck back downstairs, flinching as I stepped on the squeaky stair tread. The portrait of the original Truly gave me a disapproving look.

“Yeah, I know,” I whispered to her. “It's not polite to eavesdrop.”

Tiptoeing down the hall, I peeked through the crack between the kitchen door and its frame.

“Did you get any dinner?” my mother asked my father. “I can fix you a plate of leftovers, if you'd like.”

“True and I ordered pizza,” my father replied. He shrugged his jacket off and flung it over one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Though heaven knows we shouldn't have spent the money.”

My mother leaned back against the sink. “Is everything okay?”

“Okay?” My father gave a short laugh. “It's a mess, Dinah. A real mess. I don't know how my parents kept the business afloat this last year, even with the bank loan.”

I drew back, feeling guilty for listening but unable to pull myself away.

A chair scraped against the floor and I heard my father sit down. “They borrowed some money a while back to help the bookstore through what they told me was ‘a dry spell,' ” he went on to explain. “The note's coming due soon, and I'm not sure how we're going to pay it.”

My mother murmured something I didn't catch.

“The accountant doesn't hold out much hope,” my father told her, “but True seems to think we can turn things around. She wants to give it six months, but I just don't think it's worth it. Realistically, it will take every extra cent we have to keep the bank from foreclosing on the loan. We're stretched pretty thin as it is. Even with my pension and the insurance money and all, we still have college for the kids to save for, and we're dipping into savings for your tuition—”

“I'll drop out,” my mother said quickly.

“You will not. Better we just admit this whole thing has been a mistake, and call it quits.”

“I'll get a part-time job, then.”

“On top of a full load of classes plus the kids? C'mon, Dinah.”

“I'm willing to give it a go if you are,” my mother told
him. “I know you, J. T.—you've never backed away from a challenge in your life. You'll have a hard time forgiving yourself if you don't give this your best shot.”

My father was quiet. Seconds ticked by. Then, “Six weeks,” he said finally. “I'll give it six weeks.”

I turned and crept back upstairs to my room, where I lay in bed awake for a long time.

What if six weeks wasn't long enough?

“Family meeting tonight,” my mother announced at breakfast the next morning.

There were only five of us at the table. Danny was long gone, of course, and so was my father.

“What's up?” asked Hatcher, pouring himself some more orange juice.

I knew exactly what was up. The bookstore, that's what. I looked over at my mother, wondering how she'd answer.

“Nothing to worry about” was all she said, though. Checking her watch, she changed the subject. “I've got to run. Sorry I can't drive you again, but my first class starts in fifteen minutes. Hatcher, you know the way, right?”

My brother nodded. Not that it was even remotely possible to get lost in a town the size of Pumpkin Falls.

“Good,” my mother continued. “Be sure and lock the house when you leave.”

“What about Miss Marple?” Lauren passed a toast crust to the dog, who was lurking hopefully under the table.

My mother's face fell. “Is she still
here
? Your father was supposed to take her with him to the bookstore!”

“We can drop her off on our way to school,” Hatcher told her.

“Will you have time?”

He nodded. “No worries, Mom. We've got your six.”

That's military-speak for
We've got your back
.

She looked chagrined. “Guess we still have a few wrinkles to work out with this new routine.”

After breakfast, I shooed my sisters upstairs to brush their teeth, then headed for the mudroom.

“Back in a sec,” I told Hatcher, who was packing our lunches.