Chasing Redbird (11 page)

“But where's the
proof
?” Ben pleaded. “Where's Jessie?”

Uncle Nate grinned. “Dag-blast it,
she
took the picture!”

In the midst of the hush which followed Uncle Nate's announcement, Mrs. Boone arrived. I'd not seen her for years and years, and I wouldn't have known who it was if Mom hadn't greeted her at the door. The Mrs. Boone I remembered was a plump, hearty woman with soft brown hair. This new version of Mrs. Boone—or Louanne, as my mother knew her—was a skinny, frail thing with hair like stiff straw. Her chicken neck stretched forward, supporting a face lined with wrinkles. It was as if someone had opened up the former Mrs. Boone and released the one inside—and the one inside wasn't a little girl—it was a little old lady.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, trying to figure out if maybe this was a different Mrs. Boone. But my mother acted as if there was nothing whatsoever that was different about her—except that she seemed upset.

“Sit yourself down, Louanne,” my mother said. “You look frazzled.”

“I am,” she said, darting a glance at us kids who were still gathered around Uncle Nate and his photographs.

“Why don't you all go in the other room so Louanne and I can talk?” my mother said.

“Maybe one of them should stay,” Louanne said.

It was a peculiar thing for her to say, and we all stared at her, waiting for her to explain.

“Which one's Zinny?” she said.

Gretchen pushed me forward. “This one.”

“Maybe Zinny should stay,” Louanne said. “What I've got to say concerns her.”

I thought about bolting for the door and making a quick escape, or falling down in a fit and thrashing around and maybe even going unconscious. Everyone hovered there, curious about why Louanne Boone wanted me to stay.

“Go on,” Mom said, “go find something to do. Zinny—you stay here.”

Reluctantly, they shuffled out of the room—all, that is, except May, who decided to wash the dishes.

“May, you too. Go on.”

“I'll just do up these dishes first,” she said.

“Go
on
—”

“Okay, okay, okay! If you don't want any help, that's perfectly fine with me!” May said, stomping off.

Mrs. Boone fiddled with her key ring, clearing her throat several times. “You got new curtains,” she said.

“Three years ago,” Mom said.

“And I like the way you're doing your hair.”

“Thank you, Louanne. Yours looks nice, too.” (It didn't, though. Mom was just being polite.) “Now, is there some reason you wanted Zinny to be here?”

Mrs. Boone wouldn't look at me, so I was real worried. She said, “I hope I'm wrong about this. I hate to do this.”

“What, Louanne? What is it? Does it concern Zinny?” Mom glanced from Mrs. Boone to me. “Zinny, have you any idea—?”

“Nope,” I said, which wasn't exactly the up-and-down truth, because I knew it had something to do with Jake. Maybe Mrs. Boone knew about the puppy and thought it was my fault.

“Louanne—? Tell us what's bothering you,” Mom said.

“Okay then, I will, but I don't like to do it. You know I don't usually do things like this. You know that usually I let things roll right off me. I don't complain. I don't meddle around in other people's business. But this is different.”

Just spit it out!
I wanted to say.
Tell me the awful horrible thing I've done and hang me from the oak tree. Get it over with!

“My Jake mentions Zinny all the time—”

I believe I turned purple when she said this.

“That's nice—isn't it?” Mom said. “Does he ever mention May?”

Ah
, I thought. Even Mom suspected he'd be more interested in May. Nobody would love
me
. I was mortified that she was announcing it like this.

Louanne twisted our tablecloth in her hands. “Well, yes, he does. Maybe I've got them confused. I thought Zinny was the older one. Maybe you oughta call May back in here.”

Mom summoned May, who must have been inches away from the door, because she reappeared instantly. “Yes?” she said brightly.

Louanne pressed her lips tightly together and gave the tablecloth a few more twists. Then she sat there, rigid as a fence post. Silent. The second hand on our clock flicked its way mercilessly toward the next second, and the next, and the next. I was beginning to think maybe she'd had a heart attack.

When she finally spoke again, I flinched.

“I was cleaning out my dresser drawers today. In the top drawer, under my stockings, I keep a little box with my valuables in it. I don't have too many valuables, just a few things my grandmother gave me. And pretty regularly, I take out this box and look at those things. It makes me feel good. I like to touch them.”

A flicker of recognition flipped around the edges of my brain.

“And today when I looked in that box, I knew right away that one was missing—my grandmother's diamond-and-ruby engagement ring. I asked my husband if he'd seen it. No, he hadn't. I would've asked Jake, but he's been gone all morning, and he's not at Mrs. Flint's. I have a hunch he took my ring and gave it to May or Zinny. There, I've said it.”

I thought she should have waited to ask Jake about it, but I guess she wasn't thinking straight. I guess she got frantic.

May burst into tears, and I was out of my chair and at the door. I felt trapped, cornered.

“Zinny?” Mom said. “Where—”

I was off and running.

T
he sun was directly overhead, beating down as I ran up the trail. My heart was thudding and my feet were pounding,
thunk, thunk, thunk
on each stone. The birds must have thought it was too hot to fly, because they clustered in the treetops, chattering.

When I lifted the stone which marked the spot where I'd buried the ring, a pale brown salamander raised its head and fixed its gaze on me. I must have looked like a big sweaty giant hovering overhead. This might sound strange, but it seemed as if that salamander was trying to tell me something. Before I could figure out what, the salamander darted under a patch of pine needles.

The ring was
gone
.

I didn't know what to think. I dug farther down and pawed at the pine needles all around the spot. I searched the surrounding trees and bushes, but found nothing, and on my way back down the hill, I kept seeing those little beady salamander eyes staring at me.

I burst through the kitchen door, ready to confess all. Mrs. Boone was gone, but Mom was standing at the sink.

“Zinny? You look a wreck. There, there. I don't blame you for rushing out. That was a horrid thing Louanne did. Imagine her suspecting her own son of stealing. I told her that Jake wouldn't do such a thing, and even if he did—
if
he did—neither you nor May would have accepted it, and you would have told us about it. Don't you worry. Everything will be okay.”

I was dumbfounded. My head was saying
Confess! Confess!
but my pitiful heart was so grateful for her comfort that I couldn't speak. It was selfish of me, I knew it, but at the time, I wanted to believe that everything
would
be okay, as simply as that.

That night as I was brushing my teeth, I heard the music again. I walked outside and glanced into Uncle Nate's room. On his mirror he had taped the picture of himself—the “proof.” Round and round the room he spun, doing the boogie-woogie.

There was something about that music and seeing Uncle Nate looking so determined as he spun around that made
me
determined. I was going to find that ring and that medallion, and figure out exactly what was going on.

A
t last, school was out, and I could concentrate on my trail. There'd been no sign of Jake since Mrs. Boone had visited, and May and Gretchen whispered endlessly at night.

“You notice Jake hasn't been around?” Gretchen said.

“Shh,” May said. “Is Zinny asleep?”

I slowed my breathing and kept still.

“She's out cold,” Gretchen said. “What about Jake?”

“I think he finally wised up. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course I can.”

“I think he was just bringing Zinny things to make me jealous,” May said. “And you know that thing about the ring—? Here's what I think. I think Jake
did
take that ring—”

“No!” Gretchen said.

The ring, the ring.
It had been on my mind night and day. Maybe I only
thought
I'd buried it in that hole. Maybe I'd dropped it somewhere.

May whispered to Gretchen, “Wait—I think he took it and he was going to give it to
me
, but then he—oh, I don't know. Maybe he chickened out. Maybe he lost it. But I definitely think he—promise not to tell?”

“Promise.”

“I definitely think he likes me.” May giggled. “You know what he did yesterday? I was at Mrs. Flint's store, and Jake was there, and he—well, it was
so
obvious—”

“What was?”

“You know, that he likes me,” May said. “He smiled at me.”

“He does smile a lot,” Gretchen said.

“This was different. I could just tell.”

I buried my head under my pillow, cursing Jake.

One evening, when Dad and Ben were watching a baseball game on television, I overheard Ben say, “Dad, how come Zinny's never home anymore? How come she's always on the trail?”

“I guess she likes to be out on her own sometimes,” Dad said.

“Not sometimes,
all
the time!”

“She'll get tired of it, sooner or later.”

“But she's not nearly done. She's got miles and miles to go,” Ben whined.

“She'll get tired of it, you watch. She won't finish it.”

My own father, a
traitor
, I thought.

The trouble was, I was starting to panic. By my estimate, I'd cleared only four miles of the trail; there were sixteen more to go. I had to finish it in the summer—I
had
to, but I was beginning to think it was an impossible task.

It now took me more than an hour to get up there, and once I cleared farther, it would take longer and longer just to get to where I'd left off. I was doomed. Then I had an idea, and I put it to Mom and Dad one evening.

“Zinny, you must be out of your mind,” my father said.

“A horse!” my mother said. “You might as well be asking for an airplane. We don't have that kind of money.”

“But,” I pleaded, “then I could ride up the trail, and it wouldn't take me nearly so long, and—”

“Zinny,” Dad said, “don't you think this trail thing is getting out of hand?”