Guide Me Home (10 page)

Cissy

Cissy pinched the crust from her cheese-on-brown-bread sandwich and threw the pieces into the bushes for the birds. Mama'd have a fit if she knew Cissy was wasting food, but the dry crust stuck in her throat. She glanced at the open magazine draped across her knees, and her mouth watered for tiny cucumber sandwiches cut into pretty shapes and served on a china plate all painted with roses, like the ones the ladies in the serial illustration were enjoying.

Pansy ambled over and plopped down next to the log Cissy used as a seat. “Ain't you finished readin' that thing yet? My mama's been pesterin' me to bring it home again.”

She wasn't finished, but maybe she shouldn't read
Vogue
anymore. The articles and pictures only stirred her dissatisfaction. Cissy slapped the magazine shut and handed it to her friend. She took a nibble from her sandwich and gazed across the school ground. The same kids she'd known her whole life sat in little circles, eating biscuits or sandwiches or cornbread wedges from battered tin pails. They all laughed and talked, happy and content. Cissy's stomach soured. She didn't belong here.

She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “Pansy, you ever notice how I look?”

Pansy stuck a pickle slice in her mouth and giggled. “Kinda hard not to notice, since you an' me been sittin' together every day of school since we was little.”

Cissy scowled. “That's not what I mean. Look at my sisters.” She waited until Pansy shifted her gaze toward Della, Jessie, and Tabitha, who sat jabbering with a passel of other girls. “Do I look like them?”

Pansy stared for several minutes across the ground, then turned to Cissy and shrugged. “You all wear calico dresses. You all have braids.”

Cissy held back a huff. Sometimes Pansy didn't have any more sense than a goose. “I'm not meanin' our clothes or how we wear our hair. Don'tcha see? They have brown eyes an' brown hair. Look at me.” Pansy stared intently into Cissy's face. “Do I look like them?”

“Nope.”

Cissy sat back, smug. “Didn't think so.”

“What does it matter?”

This time Cissy let the huff come out. “Matters a lot, Pansy Blair. 'Cause I'm for certain sure I'm not a Hardin.”

Pansy crinkled her nose. “Cissy, sometimes you talk nonsense.”

“It ain't nonsense.” She dropped the uneaten sandwich in her pail, slipped from the log, and settled close to Pansy with her legs crisscrossed. “I been thinkin' on it a lot. My mama an' daddy just don't seem to take a shine to me. Not like they do to the others. An' I don't look like any of the rest of 'em.”

Pansy gaped at Cissy. “What're you sayin'?”

“I'm sayin' I think my mama an' daddy aren't really my mama an' daddy. I think they took me in instead o' birthin' me. An' I think they wish they hadn't done it.” Every day since Bek had moved to the cave estate, all Cissy'd heard from her folks was how she couldn't do anything right. Her sisters fussed at her, too, wanting her to sing or pray or play like Bek.

Hurt welled up inside of her. As mad as she got at her sisters and her folks, the idea that they didn't really want her stung more than she wanted to admit. “I'm leavin', Pansy. Goin' off on my own, someplace where I'll be wanted an'…an' loved.” Her chest ached. “Really, truly loved.”

Pansy pushed the copy of
Vogue
and her lunch pail aside and threw her arms around Cissy. “I don't want you to go, Cissy. You're my best friend in the whole world.”

Cissy hugged Pansy, then pulled away. She sniffled and rubbed her hand under her nose. “You're my best friend, too. That's why I told you.” Then she glared at the freckle-faced girl. “But don't you tell a soul, Pansy Blair, you hear me? If my daddy gets wind I plan to set out, he'll lock me in the cellar.”

Pansy's green eyes widened. “He'd do that?”

“To keep me around to tend to chores, he sure would.” A bald lie. But Pansy believed it. And the threat should keep her from spilling the secret to anybody else.

“When're you settin' out?”

“Dunno yet. Gotta set my hands on some money first. But soon.”

Tears flooded Pansy's eyes. “I'm gonna miss you.”

“I'll miss you, too.” Cissy leaned sideways and bumped her shoulder against Pansy's. “But I gotta do it. I can't stay. Not with people who don't really want me around.”

Pansy slipped her arm around Cissy's waist. “Will you write to me? Let me know where you settle?”

Cissy rolled her eyes. “If I do, my folks'll find out where I am an' might come after me. I gotta keep my whereabouts a secret, Pansy.”

Tears slipped down Pansy's cheeks. “I don't think I can stand you goin' away an' never knowin' where you went. Please write to me? I won't tell nobody where you are. I promise.”

Cissy gritted her teeth together for a minute, thinking. “Oh, all right. Soon as I'm settled, I'll send you a picture postcard. I won't write nothin' on it, though. You can look at the picture an' figure out where I am, but if there ain't no words, nobody will have to know it came from me.”

Pansy threw her arms around Cissy and squeezed. “Thank you, Cissy.”

She wriggled. “You're welcome, but let go. People are gawkin'.”

Pansy giggled and released her hold. “Sorry.”

Cissy smiled at her friend. “It's all right. Nice to know somebody'll miss me.”

More tears spilled past Pansy's freckles. “Oh, I will, Cissy. I'll miss you 'til my dyin' day. Won't nobody ever be as special to me as you are.”

For a moment Cissy considered changing her mind and staying put. She hated to break Pansy's heart.

“Maybe we should exchange keepsakes. Just so we remember each other.”

Cissy frowned. “Whaddya mean?”

“Well…” Pansy tapped her chin. “My mama hides a little paper box in her underwear drawer. Inside it she's got a lock of hair tied with a ribbon that came from her first beau. She said she gave him a lock of her hair, too, and they swore to keep it forever so they'd never forget each other.”

Cissy couldn't imagine timid Mrs. Blair ever having a beau besides Mr. Blair. “Your daddy don't mind that she keeps it?”

Pansy hunched her shoulders. She glanced quickly right and left and then whispered, “He don't know it's there.”

Cissy drew back.

Pansy nodded, her expression knowing. “I ain't never told a soul. It's a secret between you an' me, all right?”

Seemed like lots of people had secrets. And keeping Pansy's secret was a good way to make sure Pansy kept her secret. “I won't tell nobody.”

“If you're gonna go away, we should exchange something. Something that'll remind us of our friendship an' how special we are to each other.”

“I don't wanna cut off any of my hair, Pansy.”

Pansy laughed and smoothed her hand over her wavy blond locks. “Neither do I.”

The teacher stepped out on the platform and pulled the rope for the bell. The girls picked up their lunch tins, looped arms, and ambled toward the schoolhouse.

“I'm gonna think on it,” Pansy said, “an' you think, too.” She squeezed Cissy's arm against her ribs. “Don't you go until we've exchanged our keepsakes, all right?”

Cissy couldn't go until she'd sneaked some money from the tin in the cupboard, and that could take a while. “All right.”

Rebekah

R
ebekah held the torch high and to the right, away from her head and away from any of the tourists who moved in a throng in front of her, their gazes roving the rock walls. Analgesic powders dispensed by the estate physician—how nice to have a doctor at her beck and call—had eased the pain in her head and back, but her shoulder ached from the weight of the folded wad of flaming birch bark tied around the pine pitch. She traded arms and angled the ball of fire to the left.

From back here she couldn't see Tolly, but his voice echoed against the tight walls and low ceiling. “See them ripples on the wall there? They's as smooth an' shiny as silk, don'tcha think? Years an' years of watuh runnin' down the rock an' leavin' minerals behind is what done it. Yessuh, the good Lawd don't leave no bit o' His creation, not even the parts clear down deep in the earth, untouched by beauty.”

She listened close. If his words dropped so low she couldn't hear him, she knew to hurry the visitors. After a month of following the same course two times a day, she could guide people out without his help, if need be, but she didn't want to lose Tolly. He hadn't needed to warn her about going into the cave alone.

Remembering how Andy went in by himself and got carried out, draped over Tolly's arms, was enough to make her stay close at all times. She wouldn't put Mama and Daddy through the heartache of another Hardin child lost in the cave.

Somewhere in the middle of the group, Devlin Bale was also listening. She hadn't expected to see him on the Friday afternoon tour since he'd only just arrived, but apparently he was eager to see the cave. Was he as fascinated by the winding tunnels, the mineral formations, the odd sightless creatures as she had been the first time Tolly brought her into the tunnels? She hoped so. She didn't know why she wanted him to appreciate and marvel at the cave's majesty, but she wanted him to see it the way she did so badly it created an ache in the center of her chest as real as the ache in her shoulder.

She squinted against the glaring torch and watched the guests' bobbing heads. If somebody fell behind or started to wander off, she needed to be ready. She longed to examine the cave walls where people from years past—maybe even Andy—had left marks behind, but duty beckoned. When she, Tolly, and the college student who intended to draft a new map of the caves came in on their own, she'd be able to explore more deeply. For now, she needed to pay attention to the guests.

The group rounded the bend leading to Gothic Avenue, and Rebekah quickly switched hands.

Tolly's throaty commentary drifted from up ahead. “Any of y'all thinkin' o' gettin' hitched? How 'bout you two ovuh there? You look to be a likely pair.” Laughter rolled through the group, and Rebekah couldn't help smiling. Tolly gave the same spiel every time, and she could imagine him pointing out a fellow and gal from the crowd to tease.

The tourists formed a loose half circle around the trio of dripstone columns that the cave owners had dubbed the Bridal Altar. Rebekah positioned herself at the center in the rear and peeked between shoulders to Tolly, who stood in front of the columns, his white beard and white teeth shining in the light from his lantern.

“Not today, huh? Well, when you's ready, this is a right purty spot to say yo' nuptials. Betcha none o' yo' friends can say they married up a hunnert an' fifty feet unduh the ground, now can they?”

While Tolly explained how the columns formed when stalactites and stalagmites met in the middle—“Kinda like a bride an' groom comin' togethuh as one”—Rebekah skimmed her gaze back and forth across the crowd. A movement caught her eye. Someone was separating himself from the group. She automatically took a step in the direction of the person. The torch's glow fell over Devlin Bale. Her pulse leaped when his gaze met hers, and a smile curved his lips.

He eased his way to her side and leaned in. “The torch is quivering, Miss Hardin.” His whisper teased her ear as his warm breath touched her cheek. “Would you like me to hold it for a while?”

If he'd melt into the crowd, her hands would stop quivering. So would her middle. She shook her head and changed hands. “It's my job.”

“I know, but I'm willing to help. I imagine it seems especially heavy after the fall you took this morning.”

He was right, but she wouldn't hand off that torch, no matter how much her shoulders complained. She couldn't give Tolly a reason to think she wasn't strong enough to be an assistant. She needed the money from this job.

“I'm fine.”

He gave a nod and then turned his attention to the front of the group, where Tolly lifted his hand in invitation. “All right, folks, we's headin' to Giant's Coffin now. But don't none o' y'all ask me ta lift the lid an' letcha peek inside. I got no hankerin' to disturb a sleepin' giant, no sirree, an' if you got such a inklin', well, I'd say you're more'n a little tetched.” Laughter blasted as the crowd surged forward.

Devlin stayed at the back of group, just ahead of Rebekah, and she spent the remainder of the tour forcing herself to pay attention to the group as a whole rather than focusing on the delightful curls touching the collar of his suit or the fine expanse of his shoulders.

When the tour came to an end and everyone followed the passage out of the cave, Rebekah blinked rapidly against the sunlight filtering through the trees. Birdsong seemed extra loud after the cave's silence. Even after a full month of coming from the dark underground into the light, the change took her by surprise. She plunged the flickering torch into a bucket of water at the mouth of the cave and trailed the jabbering tourists to the transport wagon that was hitched to a rail at the edge of the forest.

The warm, humid air made perspiration break out over her form. She wished she could take off her jacket and gloves, but Tolly always left his on, and she was inclined to follow his example. Devlin, however, shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over his arm. Some of the tourists moved slowly, their shoulders slumped, proving the two-hour trek over uneven pathways had taxed them. But Devlin moved alongside her in an effortless gait. When Tolly had told her they'd be escorting a college student, she expected someone lazy and even out of shape from sitting at a desk. It pleased her to have been wrong.

At the wagon Rebekah lowered the hatch and set out the little stool for people to climb in more easily. She gave women her hand and allowed men to push off from her shoulder. Devlin stepped up last, but instead of climbing aboard he rounded the wagon and stopped next to the high seat where Tolly sat, reins in hand.

“Is it all right if I walk back?”

Tolly scratched his chin. “Makes no nevuhmind to me, but it's a fair stretch. 'Specially aftuh walkin' so long inside the cave. You sure you don't wanna ride?”

“I'm sure.” Devlin reached up to Tolly, and the pair shook hands. “I'll see you Monday morning, Tolly.” He strode off into the trees.

Rebekah stared after him, uneasiness tiptoeing up her spine.

Tolly angled a grin at her. “Reb? You comin'?”

Her face flaming, Rebekah hooked the hatch into place and trotted to the front. She settled herself next to Tolly. “Are you sure he should walk back to the hotel? Especially through the woods?”

He flicked the reins. “Why you worryin'?”

She hugged herself, a chill creeping across her flesh despite the mugginess. “He's from the city. He won't know what to do if he encounters a bear.”

Tolly chuckled. “Oh, now, Reb, he be a college boy. I figure a college boy's gotta have enough sense to stay away from bears.” He gave her a little nudge with his elbow, a teasing bump, and then began a back-and-forth exchange with the guests, leaving her to stew in silence the rest of the way to the hotel.

Rebekah stayed beside the wagon until all the guests departed. Then she turned to go to her cabin. Her head was starting to hurt again, and she wanted to lie down.

“Reb, you hold up there.”

She paused.

Tolly strode to her side, lifted her hand, and pressed several coins into her palm. “I ain't gonna argue wit' you no more 'bout these tips. What you do is impo'tant, keepin' ever'body togethuh, an' this's my way o' sayin' thanks fo' doin' a good job fo' me.” He curled her fingers around the cool disks. “So you put this in yo' pocket an' give it to yo' daddy. Or buy yo'self somethin'. Mebbe a Sunday-go-to-meetin' hat. One that's got flowuhs on it. Make yo'self up purty.”

Heat stirred in her chest and climbed upward.

“Gonna be a while befo' we start gettin' tips again, what with us spendin' all our time with that cartographuh. So enjoy this money, y'hear?” He gazed at her as sternly as Daddy ever had.

With a headache stealing her gumption, she didn't have the energy to argue. Rebekah slipped her hand free of his grasp and pushed it into her pocket, her fist still balled around the coins. “All right. Thank you.”

“You's welcome. Now, I's wantin' you to take tomorruh off an' jus' rest up, give yo' head a chance to lose its achin'. Gonna be out early come Monday an' ever' day thereaftuh 'til them maps get drawed.” Whistling, he took off toward the main building.

Rebekah passed through the narrow gap between the row of guest cottages and the observation building, then headed north across the open grassy area where guests often played badminton, croquet, or a strange game called lacrosse. Only the roofs of the staff cabins showed, the buildings nestled side by side behind a knoll. She crested the rise and released a sigh. Downhill from there. She was eager to take that rest Tolly had advised.

Halfway down the hill she realized someone was sitting on the little stoop outside her front door. She slowed for a moment, squinting until she recognized Cissy. Then she broke into a smile and trotted the remaining distance, ignoring the persistent pounding in the back of her head. Cissy stood, swinging the basket Rebekah had always used to carry mushrooms.

Rebekah grabbed her sister in a hug. “Hi!”

Cissy pulled back and looked Rebekah up and down. “Why're you dressed that way? You look awful. An' you smell like you've been rolling in mold.”

Rebekah stifled a snort. “Well, I think you look and smell just fine.” She glanced at the basket. “Have you been gathering mushrooms?”

“Mama said I had to. Said the cook depended on 'em.” She pulled a few coins from her apron pocket and frowned at them. “Seems like a lot of work, pickin' 'em, cleanin' 'em, an' cartin' 'em over here, for no more'n what he pays.”

Rebekah peeked into Cissy's hand. A quarter, a dime, and a nickel glinted in the sun. “Let's make it look like more then.” She fished the money Tolly had given her from her pocket and added it to the coins in Cissy's hand.

Her sister quickly counted the coins, and her eyes widened. “A dollar an' fifteen cents? Where'd you get so much?”

Rebekah hadn't realized the amount. Tolly must be half-rich from tips. She stared longingly at the quarters and dimes. She could've picked out a new shirt and gloves at the company store and had a few cents to spare. But she wouldn't take it back. “It's my tip money for taking people through the cave.”

Cissy continued to gawk at the money. “I wish I could take people on tours.”

Rebekah laughed. “You'd have to dress like a man, and you'd come out smelling like you rolled in mold. I don't think you'd like it much.”

Cissy wrinkled her nose. She dropped the coins in her apron pocket. The fabric sagged from the weight. “Maybe not. But I'd sure like takin' in that money.”

The gleam in Cissy's eyes troubled Rebekah. She took her sister's hand and squeezed it. “There's more important things in life than money, Cissy. You can't buy love, and you can't buy happiness.” Their family never had money in the bank, but she wouldn't trade Mama, Daddy, and her sisters for any amount of money.