Guide Me Home (20 page)

She clasped her hands under her chin. “Please, Mr. Temperance? You said yourself Beau's as good as gold when I'm around. Keep me around, an' you can keep bringin' in money.”

“I could bring in just as much or more by selling him and purchasing a more reliable animal. One I can control without any help.”

She didn't think that was true. The glue factory didn't pay top dollar, but a farmer would ask plenty for a gentle burro. Before Cissy could voice her argument, a man holding hands with a little girl about the same size as Little Nellie approached.

Mr. Temperance turned to the guest with a smile. “Yes, sir? How may I help you?”

“My little girl would like to pet the pony. May we…”

A pony? Cissy snorted. These city folks didn't know much.

“Of course, sir.” Mr. Temperance held his hand toward Cissy.

She swallowed a smile and placed the reins in his hand. “There you go. Bye now.”

Beauregard curled his lips and brayed.

The little girl grabbed her father around the leg.

The photographer shoved the reins at Cissy.

As soon as she took them, Beau bowed his head. Cissy flashed a saucy grin at the burro's owner and then quirked her fingers at the child. “C'mon on over. He's as nice as can be. Wanna pet his nose?” She ignored Mr. Temperance's sharp gasp and crouched down. The child scurried over and stood close to Cissy. She curled her arm around the little girl's waist. “His nose is so soft. Soft as your silk dress. He likes it when people rub his nose real gentle.”

The child slowly raised her hand and placed her palm on Beau's nose. He snuffled and the girl laughed. “He's funny!”

Cissy laughed, too, because Mr. Temperance's face had gone all red. “Yep, he sure is. Funniest burro in the whole county, I reckon.”

The little girl wriggled away from Cissy and ran to her father. “I wanna ride the horsy.”

The man pulled his wallet from his jacket and opened it. “How much for my daughter to have a ride?”

Cissy stood. “Beauregard isn't a ridin' pony, mister. But your little girl can have her picture taken sittin' right on him. I'll stay close an' make sure nothin' happens to her.” She looked expectantly at Mr. Temperance.

He cleared his throat and reached for his camera. “Yes, of course, sir. If you'd like a souvenir photograph, I'll get my camera set up.” He glowered at Cissy, but she only smiled and swung the little girl's hand.

“Thank you. I believe she would enjoy having a photograph to carry home with her. How much?”

Cissy said, “Fifty cents.”

The gentleman handed over a fifty-cent piece without even blinking.

Cissy lifted the little girl onto Beau's back and put her straw hat on the child's head.

She giggled and waved at her father. “Look at me, Daddy!”

He beamed as brightly as if his daughter had just won the Kentucky Derby.

Cissy gripped the reins with one hand and used her other hand to keep the child steady. “You gotta hold real still until you hear a pop, but don't be scared. The camera won't hurt you none.”

“She's had her portrait done many times,” the father said. “Haven't you, Ruby?”

The little girl nodded so hard she almost lost Cissy's hat.

Jealousy struck Cissy with force. Until today, she'd never had her picture made. Nobody in her family had.

Mr. Temperance peeked out from behind the camera. “Well, let's make this photograph the best one ever. Look right here, smile, and…” He pressed the bulb.

A soft
pop
reached Cissy's ears. She held her position for a few more seconds before catching the child under the arms and lifting her down. “There you go. Have your daddy come see Mr. Temperance tomorrow to pick up your picture.” She repeated what she'd heard the photographer tell the other customers all day.

The gentleman frowned. “My family is departing the estate on the late stage this evening, so you'll need to send the photograph through the post.”

While Mr. Temperance and the gentleman exchanged information, Cissy retrieved her hat and put it in the crate. Then she carried the crate to the barn with Beau slogging along on her heels. She settled him in a stall and told one of the stable workers to give the little burro water, oats, and a brushing. The young man scurried into action, and Cissy couldn't help puffing up. Nobody'd ever followed her directions so fast before. She liked being important.

When she returned to the false barn front, Mr. Temperance was standing next to his camera with his hands on his hips, scowling. “You think you're pretty slick, don't you?”

Cissy feigned innocence.

“Don't give me that look. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Doubling my price and taking over with that spoiled little girl. You think I can't do this job without you.”

She grinned. “I didn't do too bad, did I?”

He smirked. “You did very well. But you already know that.” He sat on the barrel and pinched his chin. “As much as I hate to admit it, you and that ill-behaved burro make a good team.”

Cissy's pulse doubled as hope filled her. “So…you gonna let me keep workin' for you?”

He squinted at her for long seconds. Then he sighed. “Until school lets out for the season, it will be quiet here during the week, so there would be no sense in you coming around. But if your parents give their approval, I'd like you to come next weekend both Saturday and Sunday. And then, when the summer break begins, every day until school starts again.”

Cissy let out a whoop of joy.

He burst out laughing. “Now, you haven't gained permission from your parents yet, so don't start celebrating until then.”

“Oh, they'll let me. Just wait an' see.”

“If you're half as convincing with them as you've been with me, I have no doubt.” He caught her hand and turned it palm up. “Here you go. Today's pay.”

She gazed down at the coin, astounded. He'd given her the fifty-cent piece. “But…But…”

“Call it a bonus.”

She slipped the coin into her shoe, wiggled her toes, and then grinned at the photographer.

He winked. He slapped his knees and stood. “I have work to do—photographs to print. I'll hope to see you next Saturday, Miss Cissy.”

“No need to hope. You'll see me for sure. Bye now!” She dashed around the barn, smiling so big her cheeks hurt, and plowed straight into somebody. She bounced backward and landed hard on her bottom. The air left her lungs, and her head spun.

Someone knelt beside her and took her arm. “Please forgive me. I didn't see you. Are you all right?”

Gasping, she forced her bleary eyes to focus. And when they did, she gave a start. The person who'd knocked her down was the same man who'd plagued her thoughts and dreams since the day he found her counting money at the stream. She wheezed, “It's you.”

Devlin

D
evlin gripped the girl by the upper arms and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right? We collided pretty hard.”

She touched her forehead and grimaced. “That hurt.”

He fingered his chin and chuckled. “I agree. I think your head dislocated my jaw.” She blinked at him, her round green-blue eyes appearing a bit glassy. Maybe the bump had done more damage than he'd realized. He reached for her arm.

She skittered backward, her movements clumsy. “I gotta go home, mister. Gotta talk to my daddy.” She spun and took off.

Devlin, watching after her, shook his head. He'd never seen a flightier child. He hoped she made it home without any further mishaps. He continued on to the barn, fingering his sore chin and situating the sextant he'd slipped under his jacket before setting it more securely in the waistband of his trousers. She'd jammed the bronze instrument against his ribs. If they both didn't sport bruises by morning, he'd be surprised.

He located the stable manager, Alvis Vance, in a small room in the far corner of the barn, sitting in a rickety chair tipped back on two legs and sipping from a thick ceramic mug. He looked so relaxed Devlin hated to disturb him, but he couldn't take a horse without permission.

“Excuse me?”

The man thumped the chair on all four legs and slapped the mug onto the nearby desk. “Yes, sir. Mr. Bale, ain't it? What can I do for ya?”

“I wondered if I might borrow Marey for a few hours this evening.” She'd proven herself a gentle, cooperative beast during yesterday's long excursion with Rebekah and her little sister. The ride wouldn't be as enjoyable alone, but he needed to do some private exploration today.

Alvis frowned. “I could have Junior or Elton saddle her for you, but to be truthful, Mr. Bale, I don't think it's wise to go off this late in the day. Sun sets mighty early in the hills an', well…it just ain't wise.”

The remembrance of something Rebekah had said yesterday writhed within him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd satisfied his curiosity. “I took careful note of the roads yesterday. I'm confident I won't become lost.”

The man's frown didn't fade. “You bein' a map drawer an' all, I'm not denyin' you've got some know-how the average stranger in these parts don't, but when dark falls a person can lose his bearings right fast. An' dark is when the critters start prowlin'. I'd be shirkin' my duties if I sent you off at this time o' day without givin' you a firm warnin'.”

They were wasting time arguing. He wished he'd come earlier in the afternoon and written the letter to Mother and Father during the evening hours instead.

“Tell you what.” Alvis perched on the edge of his creaky desk and folded his beefy arms over the straining buttons of his dirty shirt. “I'll send Junior Berry with you. He grew up not two miles from Mammoth Cave, an' he knows these hills inside an' out. He could bring you back here safe even if you put a blindfold on him.”

Devlin chuckled. “I wouldn't test him in that manner.”

Finally Alvis smiled. “You wait here. I'll fetch Junior, an' you an' him can be on your way real quick.”

Devlin's definition of “real quick” and Alvis Vance's were quite different. By the time Devlin and Junior set off—Devlin on Marey and Junior riding a plodding, gray-muzzled horse named, ignominiously, Lightning—the shadows lay long across the ground and a sliver of moon glowed against the pale sky. When Devlin told Junior where he wanted to go, the younger man offered a silent nod and nudged Lightning into motion. Devlin urged Marey to follow.

Junior balanced a rifle, the barrel pointing skyward, on his thigh and led them through trees and up a rise. Devlin ducked away from branches, unwilling to receive a second smack on the face that evening. The farther into the woods they rode, the cooler the air became and the deeper the shadows. Devlin's frame involuntarily shuddered. Maybe Alvis had been right about choosing this time of day for a ride.

“Purty sure the cave you was talkin' about is right close in here.” Junior's voice took on an eerie quality drifting from the cool gloaming. “I'll show you the openin', but ain't no way I'm takin' you in it. Not without a lantern.”

Devlin didn't necessarily want to go in, but he needed to judge its entrance in relation to the tunnels he'd thus far explored in Mammoth Cave. “That's fine. Thank you.”

Still pointing the rifle skyward, Junior brought Lightning to a stop and slid down from the horse's back. “Come on over here.”

Devlin swung to the ground and, keeping a tight grip on Marey's reins, followed Junior through a very narrow gap in the trees. A small, sloping patch of thickly grassed ground, deeply shadowed, waited on the other side of the gap. A crooked opening with rocks and brush at its base appeared black against the hillside.

Junior pointed. “There it is.”

Devlin moved directly to the crevice and then removed his sextant from beneath his jacket. Generally used by sea captains, it had proved useful in providing information about general locations on land, as well. He located the North Star through the peephole, adjusted the plumb line, tightened it to preserve its position, and then returned the instrument to his waistband. He turned to find Junior gaping at him.

Devlin smiled and patted the bump beneath his jacket. “If my measurement proves accurate, I won't need your help finding the cave next time.”

The youth closed his mouth and shook his head. “That's about the strangest thing I ever seen somebody do. You sure you ain't a bootlegger lookin' for a likely place to put a still?”

Devlin burst out laughing. He would remember to share Junior's comment with Father. “I'm very sure.”

“So you all done?”

Devlin squelched his amusement and nodded.

Junior gave a lithe leap onto Lightning's back. “Let's get back then. Time for bears an' cougars to start prowlin'.”

Devlin didn't need a second prompting. Back in his cottage he returned the sextant to its wood carrying case and then used the case as a lap desk to add to the letter he'd begun earlier.

I recorded the location of a small cave in the hills roughly three-quarters of a mile north of Mammoth Cave. According to locals—namely, Rebekah and Jessie—there are dozens of small caves in the hills.

Excitement stirred within him. He placed the pen's nib on the paper again.

If each of them is somehow linked to Mammoth Cave, the possibilities for exploration are endless; the possibilities for furthering the tourism of this estate are infinite.

Dollar signs danced in front of his eyes. He closed the letter, sealed it inside an envelope, and set it aside for posting in the morning. He hoped the summer weeks would provide adequate time to discover every potential benefit of securing Mammoth Cave and the surrounding acreage for the fine state of Kentucky.

Devlin ducked low and eased sideways through the most narrow, winding, low-ceilinged passage he'd traversed since his first day in the cave. Rebekah, candle in hand, followed him. She and Tolly had deposited their torches, as well as their packs and his waywiser, nearly a quarter of a mile back in a small igloo-shaped cavern. The candle's dancing flame did little to provide guidance, and he'd bumped his head on outcroppings twice so far.

Bumps didn't bother him, though. At least not much. His greater concern was unwittingly encountering a bat or a spider. Given his inability to escape, trapped within such close quarters, he'd be at the creature's mercy.

Somewhere ahead Tolly waited with Devlin's tape-measure case in hand. When Devlin caught up to him—assuming he didn't get wedged in somewhere and spend the rest of his life trapped in a crevice in Mammoth Cave—he'd mark the one hundred feet in his book and then hold the end of the metal ribbon and let Tolly move ahead again, releasing the ribbon until it reached its full length.

They'd repeated the process nearly a dozen times in the past hours, progressing at a snail's pace. Devlin's stomach growled, and his impatience to be finished with the tunnel grew. When would it end?

“Ouch!” Rebekah cried out sharply and then darkness descended like a curtain falling.

Devlin froze in place, his heart thudding into his chest. “What happened?”

“The candle burned my thumb. I dropped it.”

“Well, light another one,” he snapped. The darkness, the tightness, the inability to discern where he was raised a wave of panic.

“Give me a minute. It's hard to reach in my pocket when I can hardly bend my arm.” Her words held a bite, too.

He counted the seconds, waiting with his jaw clamped so hard his teeth ached, expecting a bat to swoop in and tangle in his hair any minute. He heard the strike of flint, and light flared behind his shoulder. Startled, he bounced his temple against the close rock wall. He winced.

A soft glow flowed over his shoulder. “I'm sorry it took me so long. Are you all right?”

He wasn't. His head throbbed. His shoulders ached. His stomach was full of knots. But he said, “I'm fine. Are you ready to move on?”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

Devlin swallowed against his dry throat—what he wouldn't give for a sip of water—and forced himself forward a few inches.

Tolly's voice carried from somewhere ahead. “Hold up. I'm comin' yo' way.”

Rebekah called, “Is something wrong, Tolly?”

“Jus' at the end, an' it's plenty tight. Dunno why I di'n't think of it befo', but there ain't no need fo' you to come all the way to the end, too.” He sounded as if he spoke from the inside of a barrel.

Devlin frowned. “What about the measurement, Tolly?”

“Pulled the tape as far as seventy-two feet. Write that down, Devlin, an' stay put.”

Rebekah thrust the candle forward, and Devlin wriggled until he connected the stub of pencil with his notebook. He checked the list of numbers and determined they'd gone 1,472 feet into a tunnel Stephen Bishop hadn't included on his map. Despite the morning's tension, he couldn't stop a smile from growing. What an accomplishment.