Guide Me Home (5 page)

Pink rays of dawn fell over Mama and their small flock of chickens. Mama scooped handfuls of feed from her apron, which she used as a pouch, and scattered it. The chickens pecked, clucking and flapping their wings. Mama laughed and Rebekah smiled. What a pleasant sound. Mama shook her head. “Greedy cluckers, that's what you are. Oughta make you search for grubs an' such 'stead o' spoilin' you so.” She tossed another handful.

The back door popped open, and Jessie stepped onto the stoop. “Mama, Rebekah ain't in her bed.”

Mama lifted her head and scanned the yard. Rebekah held her breath and went stiff, certain her mother would see right through the wall to her hiding place. Mama's gaze skimmed on past the tobacco barn and over to Jessie. “She's prob'ly set off already for the cave estate—tryin' to catch the owner soon as he shows up over there.”

Jessie frowned. “Little Nellie's fussin' for her. Wants Bek to do her braids.”

“Tell Cissy or Della to do up Little Nellie's hair. It don't have to be Rebekah doin' everything.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Jessie went back inside.

Mama gave her apron a flick, swished her palms together, and headed inside, too.

Relief turned Rebekah's muscles into liquid. She turned and sagged against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment and letting full wakefulness come over her slow and easy. Her plan to be off the property before anybody else woke up hadn't worked so well. Who knew she'd sleep so hard and sound on the barn floor with nothing but an old horse blanket for a bed? But now she needed to hurry and scat. After breakfast, the bigger girls would head for school, Daddy would trek off to their small field over the knoll, and Mama would be in and out with the littlest girls.

She pushed upright and tossed her nightgown over her head. She grabbed up Andy's shirt. In the pale morning light she recognized the green-and-yellow-plaid shirt Mama had sewed him for his last Christmas. Her hands began to shake. Could she wear this?

She set her jaw at a determined angle. Yes, she could. She had to. She gave herself a little shove and jammed her arms into the sleeves, then buttoned it all the way to the top. She stepped into his britches. Both the shirt and the britches were baggy, but that was best. No sense in calling attention to her feminine form with snug-fitting clothes. She'd use a piece of twine through the belt loops to keep the pants from sliding over her hips.

She sent her gaze down her length. The pant legs ended a good four inches above her ankles. She stared at her feet and skinny ankles, chewing the inside of her lip. Then she shifted her attention to Andy's boots. Thick, clunky things with worn toes and broken laces. But the shafts were at least six inches high. She could tuck the britches into the boots and nobody would know the legs were too short. She plopped onto her bottom and pulled the boots over her feet. Grunting a bit, she wrapped the shaft around the fabric. Bulky. Uncomfortable. But it would have to do.

She stood and took a step. Her feet slid, and she grabbed an upright beam to catch her balance. She glared down at the boots, but her withering stare didn't shrink them any. They stayed three sizes too big. A chuckle threatened as a memory surfaced—Daddy saying if Andy grew into his feet, he'd likely be as tall as Goliath.

Her nose stung. She sniffed hard and made herself stop remembering. She'd find some rags to stuff into the toes. And once she got her feet figured out, she'd turn her thoughts to how to fix the top end of her body. Her hair was straggling in her face, a constant reminder of the problem it created.

A large wooden trunk with Great-Granddaddy's name, “Cyrus Hardin,” and “Kentucky, USA” carved into the lid crouched in the corner of the barn. Daddy kept all kinds of odds and ends in the trunk. There'd be rags, too. She scuffed across the floor and raised the lid. Sure enough, a tangled wad of rags lay on top of the heap. She fished out the ones with the worst holes since they'd be missed the least, and then she started to close the lid again. But something caught her eye. A curl of something brown. Worn. Leathery. Her heart leaped.

With a little cry of elation she pushed aside the mouse-eaten quilt they used for picnics and yanked out Great-Granddaddy Hardin's hat. She angled it toward a pale shaft of light sneaking between slats high on the wall and examined it, her pulse galloping faster than a stampeding horse. It was mouse chewed on one side of the brim, misshapen, and sweat stained, but the crown was intact.

She put it on and fingered it all the way around, a smile pulling on her lips. If she piled her hair up on top of her head and then tugged the brim over her ears, wouldn't it look as if she had short hair? Very short hair, like a man? Sure it would. She wanted to whoop in delight, but she gave the hat a toss in the air instead. While the hat bounced across the hard ground, she bent over and gathered her hair into a tail. She twisted it as tight as new rope and wound it into a coil on top of her head. Then she jammed Great-Granddaddy's hat over the coil and stood.

For a moment she was afraid to move. Would it stay in place? She shook her head a bit. The hat didn't fall off. She scuffed around the floor with turtle-slow steps. No slipping. She gave a few bounces on her heels. It still stayed in place. Happiness danced through her middle, and her feet followed suit, stirring up dried bits of tobacco leaves with a little jig. She giggled, clamped her hands over her mouth, and swallowed the joyous sound.

She was ready. Now to snag that job.

Tolly Sandford

T
olly opened the door to his cabin and tossed the water from his washbasin into the yard. The water splattered right at the feet of a boy dressed in his pappy's hat and boots. The boy came to a halt, his body arching like lightning had struck his toes, and Tolly couldn't hold back a hoot of laughter.

He plunked the basin on the stand inside the door and stepped off the stoop, his hand extended toward the startled boy. “Sorry 'bout that, young fella.” The boy stuck out his hand—a very slender hand—and Tolly gave it a firm shake, chuckling. “If you ain't had your weekly bath yet, you can claim that sprinkle I just gave ya an' avoid the washtub.”

The boy's lips twitched into a funny half grin. “That's all right.” His voice sounded gravelly, like he wasn't fully woke up yet. He jammed his hand in the pocket of his britches and poked his toe against the ground, hanging his head low. “No harm done.”

Tolly figured not. A little water never hurt nobody. He pinched his beard and gave the boy a head-to-toe look. He'd seen this one somewhere before. “You ain't stayin' at the hotel with yo' family, is you?”

“No, sir.”

“You live somewheres 'round here?”

“Yes, sir.”

This was one tongue-tied youngster. If he didn't have something to hide, Tolly would turn cartwheels for the next batch of guests. Wouldn't that be a sight to behold? Balling his hands on his hips, Tolly barked in his sternest voice, “You'd best not be sneakin' 'round, thinkin' you're gonna go explorin' in the cave. Mistuh Janin, he cracks down hard on them who don't pay fo' tickets.”

The boy's head snapped up. “I'm not going to sneak into the cave. I came for a job.”

“A job, huh? Doin' what?”

“Being a guide.”

Tolly snorted. He couldn't help it. This one looked scared of his own shadow. And he wanted to take folks through dark caverns and narrow passageways where spiders crept along the walls and bats swooped out of nowhere? “You must be joshin' me.”

The boy bit his lower lip and blinked several times. If Tolly wasn't mistaken, the kid was trying not to cry. This was one peculiar boy. But the reaction stirred Tolly's sympathy. The Lord called on His followers to be loving to folks, and Tolly tried to follow well. He gentled his tone. “How you know we's needin' anothuh guide?”

“The cook—Mr. Cooper—told me so.”

Just like that Tolly knew who stood before him. Not a boy at all, but the oldest of the Hardin girls, the one who delivered mushrooms to the hotel kitchen, the one who'd fallen across the new grave and—

His knees went weak, and he turned his face away so she wouldn't see the moisture filling his eyes. If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never forget finding her brother crumpled like a pile of rags at the bottom of a ravine. He'd never forget this girl's sorrow. Hadn't he vowed then and there to do whatever he could to help the family? But he hadn't got the chance. Not until now.

“All right…boy. What be yo' name?”

“Reb—” She gulped. “Reb Hardin.”

Least she hadn't straight-out lied to him. But what should he do? Trekking through the cave could be treacherous. A guide had to keep the folks who were taking the tour safe. Safe from the cave. Safe from themselves. In every group there was one or two who thought they'd be just fine exploring on their own. If somebody got stubborn on her, this slip of a girl wouldn't have much authority.

He ought to snatch the sorry-looking old hat off her head. Let her know he saw right through her pretense. Send her back to her mama. But that family must be hurting. Hurting over their loss.
Lawd Almighty, what'm I s'posed to tell this here gal?

He jerked his attention to the girl who stood in the morning sunshine all decked out in men's gear. “You got any experience in cavin'?”

She shrugged. “There's a cave on our property. Just a small one. But I'm in and out of it nearly every day.”

“You ain't squeamish 'bout spiders an' such?”

Her face went white and she grimaced. But quick as a firefly's flash she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I'm a lot bigger than they are.”

Tolly laughed. Her adamant statement didn't match the disgust on her face. “That's true enough.” He looked her up and down again. Tall compared to most girls, coming all the way to his chin. But scrawny as a beanpole. Still, she had tenacity. He saw it in the tilt of her chin and the way she stood without fidgeting while he took his going-over. And even after her brother got lost and died in the cave, she was still willing to go on in and traipse around. So she must be braver than she looked.

He stared straight in her eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “Why you want to be a guide?”

Her chin quivered briefly. “I need the money.”

“What fo'?” If she said something frivolous, he'd send her home, no matter how much he owed the family.

“To buy a decent headstone.”

Tolly swallowed hard. “Who that stone be fo'?”

She swallowed, too. “My mama.”

He squinted at her. Far as he knew, her mama was still living. “You sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

Maybe her mama was sick, even at death's door.
I gots to help this family, Lawd. What would You have me do?
On the tail of his prayer came the answer. He'd keep this one safe while she earned a wage. And he'd finally get to repair his dented conscience at the same time. Still, he wouldn't break any rules.

He barked, “Guides gotta be at least eighteen years old. How old're you?”

“Twenty last February.”

So he could tell Mr. Janin she was old enough. He pushed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. “Lemme tell you somethin', Reb Hardin. I growed up right here at Mammoth Cave. Been trailin' my pappy through the tunnels from the time I was big enough to leave crawlin' behind—more'n fifty years now. Seein' as how I's right at home in the cave, Mr. Janin put me in charge of assignin' guides an' helpuhs.”

Her eyes widened. Her lips turned white around the edges. He was scaring her—making her worry. But she didn't turn away from him.

“See, we never send only one guide in with a group. One leads 'em all, an' anothuh goes behind, makes sure they all stay togethuh. I's a lead guide. You'd be goin' behind. So you'd be a helpuh, not a guide.” He narrowed his gaze. “You still thinkin' you want the job?”

She nodded so fast he was surprised she didn't lose her old, battered hat.

“All right then. I'll let Mr. Janin know to add Reb Hardin to the books.”

Her face lit. “When do I start?”

He scratched his cheek. He could use her today. He'd taken a group by himself yesterday and spent the whole tour nervous as a cat with deaf kittens, worrying somebody might fall behind. But it'd take a day or so to get everything squared away with Mr. Janin. And he ought to take her on the tour by herself a time or two before trusting her with guests. “Come back tomorruh mo'nin', but meet me at the mouth o' the cave. You an' me'll follow the trail by our lonesome—get you familiar wit' the short tour since that's the one I lead. Soon as I think you's ready to keep a group movin', you'll start drawin' the wage.”

“I'll be there at daybreak tomorrow.”

“You'll be there all by yo'self 'cause I's gonna eat my breakfast fuhst.”

“Yes, sir.” She thrust her hand at him. “Thank you.”

He shook her hand. “You's welcome.” He pulled in a breath. If she was a boy, her cheeks wouldn't still be smooth as silk at twenty. He gripped her hand hard and lowered his voice so nobody would overhear. “Reb, on yo' way ovuh here tomorrow, stop along the road an' smear some dirt on yo' face. Seein' as how there ain't no othuh way fo' you to have a whisker shadow like othuh…fellas…yo' age.”

Rebekah

The shrewd glimmer in the older black man's eyes sped Rebekah's pulse. She yanked her hand from his tight grasp and pressed her palm to her chest. “You—you know?”

He gave a slow nod, his dark eyes never shifting away from hers.

“How?”

“Kinda hard to fo'get somebody you seen sobbin' ovuh her brothuh's grave.”

Rebekah stepped back, memories rising up to taunt her.

“But, Reb?” He pinned her with a serious look. “I don't aim to let it make no diff'rence.”

She gazed at him in open-mouthed amazement. He'd still hire her?

As if he'd heard her inner question, he bobbed his head and spoke in a low, raspy voice. “I reckon I owe ya.”

“Why?”

His dark eyes narrowed, his lips went tight for a moment. “I know that cave like the back o' my hand. When yo' brothuh went wanderin' an' got hisself lost, I knowed I'd be able to find him wherevuh he landed, so I promised yo' mammy I'd bring her boy out. An' I did. But not alive like she expected me to.” He sighed again, his shoulders rising and falling as if he tried to dislodge a mighty weight. “No 'mount o' money'll bring yo' brothuh back again. But if it'll ease yo' family's burdens fo' you to earn money fo' a headstone, then I can sign you on.”

Mr. Sandford's kindness astounded her. His sense of responsibility humbled her. She swallowed a knot of worry. “You—you won't get into trouble, will you, if other folks figure out I'm not a boy?”

A smile rounded his full cheeks and painted starbursts at the corners of his eyes. “See now, here's the thing. Ain't no writ-down rule that says only fellas can be guides. Oh, now, we allus done it that way. Just makes good sense. Whole lot easier to move 'round in there with britches on 'stead o' skirts. Folks is more likely to listen if some man tell them to stay on the trail. So it'd be best to have you gussyin' up like a fella 'stead of a girl. But I ain't breakin' no rule. Othuhwise I wouldn't take you on. But like I says, I owes yo' family.”

He tipped his head to the side and seemed to study her. “Did ya know guides live right here on the estate?” He gestured to the row of cabins. “Hank Dauber—he's the one who took sick ovuh the wintuh an' done passed just last week—lived in that'n next to mine. Now it's sittin' there empty. Mr. Janin'll prob'ly tell you to move in.”

“Oh.” She hadn't considered living away from home. What would Daddy say? “Um, do I have to?”

Mr. Sandford's forehead puckered. “I reckon not, but it'll make things a mite easier on ya, not havin' to go back an' forth. An' the pay's twelve dollahs a month plus victuals. Almost seems like throwin' away part o' yo' pay if you don't stay on the grounds, take yo' meals an' such here.” He leaned in, waggling his eyebrows. “Place o' yo' own. Three meals a day. Ol' Coop, he's a right fine cook. You won't go hungry.”

Rebekah nibbled her lip. If she didn't eat at home, it would mean more food going into her sisters' bellies. The thought of a whole cabin to herself appealed to her. And frightened her, too. Sharing a room with so many others, she'd often yearned for privacy, but she'd never been completely alone. Would she pine for her parents and sisters?

He patted her on the shoulder. “You think on it. But to ease yo' mind, the guides an' helpuhs, they's all trustwuhthy men. You don't gots to worry about any of 'em pesterin' ya. 'Specially with me so close.” He stepped up on the cabin's stoop and waved his arm at her, the way Mama tried to shoo the chickens when they followed too close on her heels. “You skedaddle now—go tell yo' pappy 'bout yo' new job.” He closed the door behind him.

Rebekah stood for several minutes, absorbing everything Mr. Sandford had told her. He wanted her to keep wearing britches, and it didn't matter that she wasn't a boy. The job included a cabin all to herself and three meals a day cooked by somebody else, and best of all it paid twelve dollars a month. Her pulse stuttered and her mouth went dry. Twelve dollars? She'd never seen twelve dollars in one place before. Her mind scrambled through the things they could do with so much money.