Miss Dimple Suspects (2 page)

It didn’t take as long to find her way back to the place where Virginia had rested against the tree, and Dimple explored the undulating terrain above it, using her stick to help keep her footing on treacherous ground where hidden hollows and stump holes might bring about a broken ankle, or roots a harmful fall. Faced with a steep gully, she chose to sit and slide down, as the bank was slick with pine needles and the bottom soft with fallen leaves. If she weren’t on such a grave mission, Dimple thought, she might enjoy the experience, as it brought to mind happy memories of a time long past when she and her brother played follow the leader through the woods on their farm, splashing through streams and swinging on vines before racing home across familiar fields. After their mother died when she was fourteen and Henry, eight, Dimple’s carefree hours were limited, as she had to help with much of the housework as well as look after Henry. Dimple Kilpatrick took mothering seriously, as she did later with her teaching. Her father had hired a cook to take care of their meals, but Dimple saw that her little brother didn’t skip his baths, had clean clothes, did his homework, and went to bed on time. And she loved him with all her heart. At the present, Henry was working at the Bell Bomber plant in Marietta on a top secret project that might help them win the war against Germany and Japan, and Dimple liked to think that her parents, if alive, would be as proud as she was of the man he had become.

Having no children of her own, Dimple Kilpatrick discovered that she had plenty of leftover love to share and knew she had found her mission in life when she first faced a classroom filled with squirming five- and six-year-olds, some of who clung to their mothers in tearful desperation.

Peggy Ashcroft had seemed a happy child since she walked into her classroom on the very first day of school in her shiny new brown shoes and a red plaid dress sewed painstakingly by Kate, who admitted she’d had a little help from Mary Edna Sizemore, who taught home economics at the high school. Apart from a normal period of grief and questions about what had happened to her mother, the little girl appeared to have become adjusted to school and to her new family, and Kate and Mathew— Well, it made Dimple happy just to look at them.

Now she tugged her lavender knit hat snugly about her ears and turned up the collar of her coat as a stiff wind sent brown leaves skyward. It was already cold and would soon become colder. Was a frightened little girl lost and shivering somewhere on this wooded hill? Dimple stood still and listened. Again she called, but only the wind answered. She was too far away to hear or see the other searchers, and the bare trees seemed to stand in judgment around her. Dimple Kilpatrick pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket to blot her eyes, as the wind had caused them to water. Of course it was the wind. Not that there was anything wrong with crying, but it wouldn’t help anyone now.

She thought of red-eyed Kate Ashcroft earlier at the school where they had gathered to organize the search and how she had stood at the top of the steps to tell everyone about her little girl: what she looked like, what she wore, how she sang “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” to her calico cat, Peaches, and wanted a red scooter for Christmas but knew she would have to wait until after the war. That was okay with Peggy. Although her hair was naturally curly, she preferred to wear it in pigtails but the ribbons tended to get lost. She had one tooth missing right in front and loved chocolate ice cream just about better than anything—except maybe watermelon …

Seeing his wife about a breath away from melting into tears, Mathew Ashcroft stepped up to thank everyone for their help, and arm in arm, the two moved aside for Bobby Tinsley, who would direct the search.

Mathew had joined the group combing the area around Fox Grape Hill, where the charred remains of Peggy’s former home lay buried beneath a jungle of honeysuckle vines. Although Kate begged to go with them, on the advice of Chief Tinsley and others, and accompanied by several friends, she reluctantly went back to the house to wait and hope for Peggy’s return.

The stricken look on the young mother’s face would stay with Dimple Kilpatrick for years to come, and she yearned to comfort her and tell her everything would be all right, but she wanted even more to help find that child and bring her safely home.

Was everything going to be all right?
When she and Virginia had first set out to look for Peggy’s “happy place” on Bent Tree Hill, she was almost certain she would find her there, but now …

Daylight was slipping away quickly, and in spite of her warm wool gloves, Miss Dimple’s hands were numb from the cold, and she could scarcely feel her feet. How far had she come? If she didn’t start back down soon, it would be too dark to see. In her coat pocket she was comforted to feel the cylindrical shape of the small flashlight she had thought to bring along at the last minute. It didn’t give much light, but it was better than nothing and might prevent her from taking a serious fall. Except for members of the Home Guard and a few hardy others who intended to search through the night, most volunteers would soon be leaving, and Virginia was the only person who knew where she was. Her friend Phoebe Chadwick, who owned the boardinghouse where she lived, was visiting a relative in Macon, and her fellow roomers were usually on their own on Saturday nights, having a quick sandwich in the kitchen before going to their rooms to read, write letters, or listen to the radio. Those who chose to gather in the parlor would probably think she was either in her room or sharing supper with Virginia. Miss Dimple sighed and surveyed the spreading gloom around her. It was time to make a decision. A practical decision. And Dimple Kilpatrick had always prided herself on her practical sense. She would walk as far as the large rock up ahead, and if she found nothing there, although heartsick, she would begin to make her descent.

At first she thought it was a leaf, dangling as it was on the end of a twig, but autumn was far past and this was much too bright for a leaf. Too red. Dimple pulled the ribbon from the waist-high branches of a bush, and after years of having young children cluster about her, Dimple Kilpatrick knew it was just the right height to snag a ribbon from a little girl’s hair.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

“I don’t want to read about Snow White anymore!” Peggy Ashcroft shoved the storybook aside. “She must’ve known that old woman with the apple was the wicked queen! Couldn’t she
see
? I want to look for Peaches and I bet I know just where she is. Why can’t we go and find her?”

Violet Kirby set the book on the table and flipped Peggy’s pillow to the cool side. She was usually an easygoing child, content to play go fish, color pictures, or attempt to dress her cat, Peaches, in doll clothes, but today she was ill and feverish and nothing seemed to please her.

“Honey, I’ve hollered all up and down this street for Peaches. That cat will come home when she’s good and ready, you can count on it.” According to her mama, once you feed a cat, you ain’t never gonna get rid of it, but she wasn’t going to tell Peggy that. “You want some more ginger ale? It’ll make your throat feel better.”

But Peggy turned her face away. “Peaches will make me feel better, and I think you’re mean not to let me go find her!”

Although Violet was only sixteen, she knew when she was being manipulated. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” she quoted. “Your mama and daddy should be home from that wedding before long, and if Peaches isn’t back by then, I’ll bet one of them will go and hunt for her.” She tucked Peggy’s rag doll, Lucy, under the covers beside her. Violet’s aunt Odessa had made the doll for Peggy two years before when she’d lost her mother and everything she’d owned in that awful fire. “And what if Peaches came home and found us gone?” she said. “What would she think then? I’ll bet if you close your eyes and take a little nap, that cat will be back by the time you wake up.… And I’m not supposed to tell, but I happen to know your mama’s bringing you a piece of wedding cake from the reception, and if you put it under your pillow tonight, you’re supposed to dream about the man you’re going to marry.”

“Won’t it get smushed?”

Violet smiled. “Well, I reckon they’ll wrap it up real good in wax paper.”

Peggy made a face. “Shoot, I’d lots rather eat it! What if I dreamed about Willie Elrod?”

*   *   *

A half hour later, having listened to
The Green Hornet
on the radio, Violet quietly opened Peggy’s bedroom door and tiptoed in to check on her. She hadn’t heard one peep from Peggy since she’d tucked her into bed and assumed the little girl had dropped off to sleep.

Not only was the bed empty, but six-year-old Peggy Ashcroft was nowhere to be found and neither were her hat, coat, or mittens. Her neatly folded pajamas had been left on the chair, and a dress she had worn the day before no longer hung on the back of the door.

Not even stopping to put on a wrap, Violet started on a run for the Methodist church where Kate Ashcroft was to play the piano for the wedding. The ceremony should have been over by now, but guests were probably lingering over punch and cake at the reception. She had almost reached the corner when Violet saw nine-year-old Willie Elrod racing toward her on his bicycle.

“Willie! I need you to ride over to that wedding reception at the church and tell Mr. and Mrs. Ashcroft Peggy’s done taken off to find that cat, and I think I know where she’s gone! Hurry, now! You can get there faster than I can!”

Violet Kirby watched the child wheel about and pedal for dear life for the Methodist church a few blocks away. Only after she saw him safely across the street did she allow herself to cry.

*   *   *

Dimple Kilpatrick felt herself go weak as she reached for the flashlight in her pocket, and only then did she realize she had been holding her breath. The ribbon was red, the same color as the dress Peggy Ashcroft had been wearing when she disappeared that afternoon. She must be somewhere close by! Dimple felt a peculiar emptiness in the pit of her stomach. What if she had turned around earlier without looking further? Clutching the ribbon as if it could somehow lead her to Peggy, Miss Dimple called the child’s name. Still no answer.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to turn back now. Standing there in the semidarkness, Dimple Kilpatrick devised a plan. She would take twenty steps forward and call again; then twenty more, and twenty more. After that time, if she still hadn’t found Peggy, there should be barely enough light to go back for help. Miss Dimple tied the ribbon to the bush where she had found it to mark the spot and plunged forward. Underbrush clawed her legs, and overhanging limbs raked her so that she had to hold her hat on with one hand to keep from losing it. She tucked the little flashlight back into her pocket to use later and pulled herself along by low-hanging branches, pausing now and then to shout the little girl’s name and listen for a response.

But branches and bushes weren’t the only things that grabbed at Dimple Kilpatrick as she made her way along uncertain ground. The smothering threat of fear hovered so near she could almost smell it, and it stank of rotten peaches. It was waiting and she knew it, sensed it closing in to make her heart race, her breath come fast, her reasoning take leave of her.

Do get a hold of yourself, Dimple. You are not eight years old and you know very well where you are! If it gets too dark to see, all you have to do is make your way down this hill a few feet at a time.
Still, she couldn’t erase the memory of her frenzied mission to find help for her two-year-old brother struggling to breathe with diphtheria.

*   *   *

It was the last of August and the day was born muggy and oppressive even before sunlight slanted through the slits in the bedroom shutters. And it was as humid inside as out because her mama kept a steaming kettle next to Henry’s little bed with a tent made of bedsheets over his face. Dimple’s papa had gone to Milledgeville the day before with corn to be ground into meal and the last of the okra and green beans to sell at the market. He was staying with relatives there and didn’t plan to come home until tomorrow, so when Henry woke with fever and chills and his breathing began to make that terrible squeaking sound by late afternoon, Dimple and her mother knew they had to get help fast.

“Minerva will know what to do,” her mother said, pacing from Henry’s cot to the window for about the tenth time. Their neighbor lived almost five miles away if you went by the road, and in the absence of a doctor, Minerva Sayre had ministered to just about everybody around at one time or another. Why, she’d even stitched up her father’s leg when he cut it open chopping wood, and you could hardly see the scar.

“I’ll go, Mama! Let me!” Dimple covered her ears to block out the sound of her little brother’s labored breathing. She could hardly bear to hear it. Her father had taken the horses and she knew she wouldn’t be able to control either of the two mules. “Please! I can run. I’ll run as fast as I can!”

Her mother held her close and kissed her, smoothing the soft brown hair from her face. “Go by the road and take Bear with you. Minerva will bring you back in the buggy.

“Be careful, and God go with you!”

Calling to her dog, Dimple ran down the path to the road, glancing back to see her mother watching from the doorway. Once she reached the road, now thick with red dust, she turned toward their neighbor’s as her mother had directed, but Dimple Kilpatrick knew a shorter way, and as soon as she was out of sight, she veered off, skirting her father’s field where cotton would soon be picked and carried to the gin on the big wagon drawn by mules. Bear, a mixed breed dog of part collie and part who-knew-what, trotted obediently along by her side, although he seemed hesitant about leaving the road.

“It’s all right, I know a better way!” Dimple called to him, running ahead. The familiar pathway through the woods was much cooler and the shade welcome after the choking dust of the road and Dimple had played there often, setting up housekeeping for her dolls under the trees, serving them tea in acorn cups. She knew how the big cedar, so old her father referred to it as “Granddaddy,” spread its pungent branches like a ceiling, surrounding her with its calming green. She knew how the roots of the water oak made perfect little elf houses, and although she’d never seen them, Dimple knew they were there. She knew that beyond the woods she would have to duck under the pasture fence and cross the grassy meadow where her father’s cattle grazed. It felt good to wade through the shallow creek where Bear drank noisily and sprinkled her when he shook himself, but today she couldn’t take time to splash and make “frog houses” in the mud or pick a bouquet of buttercups and daisies for the supper table. Trying not to think of what she might find when she reached home, Dimple raced across the pasture and climbed the fence to the other side, where rows of corn taller than she were already beginning to wither and turn brown. They rustled, whispering, “Hurry! Hurry!” as she ran, stumbling over the uneven ground, her breath coming in gasps. Dimple had never been on the other side of the cornfield, but she was sure it wouldn’t be far now to where their neighbor lived. Well … maybe not too sure.