Something to Hold (13 page)

That's what Bill was talking about. That
is
ugly.

Raymond lifts his head slowly, but he doesn't wind up. His eyes dark under his baseball cap, he glares at the man. I've seen him when he's mad, but this is something more. Something different.

Raymond winds up and throws another straight shot. This time, the batter snags a corner of the ball and sends a hard grounder right back at the mound. Raymond scoops it up and cocks his arm as the boy flings the bat and pounds toward first. He is only about halfway up the line when Raymond lets loose.

But he doesn't throw to Dawson, who's got his foot on first base and glove out. Raymond throws right at the runner like he is sighting down the barrel of a gun. I shudder when the ball slams into the boy's ankle and he goes down screaming.

The Metolius fans rise as one as their team boils off the bench, everyone yelling. The coaches and players swarm the screeching boy. Between their legs, I see one black heel pounding a crater in the dirt. I'm horrified that Raymond would do something so terrible.

Out on the field, the Warm Springs players stand in stunned silence. All but Raymond, who turns and walks off the mound. He takes off his glove and drops it into Sherf's hands right in front of where I'm sitting.

"Nobody calls me Chief," he says.

S
HERF
and the umpire stand between Raymond and the angry Metolius fans pressing in on home plate. The man who was yelling at Raymond has vanished in the confusion.

Bill grabs Joe and waves me off the bleachers. I scramble down and run after them as Mom pulls up in the station wagon.

She rolls down the window. "Game over already?"

"Raymond whacked a kid with the ball," Joe says. "On purpose."

Mom shakes her head, but she doesn't look surprised.

We ride in silence most of the way home. My heart is still pounding and my hands are sweaty. I keep going over what would make Raymond do such a hideous thing. Then somehow I know.
That was Raymond's stepfather at the backstop.

Bill says, "Just as well that Dad missed the game. Raymond wrecked it for us."

Mom's eyes meet his in the rearview mirror. "He had no reason to do something like that," she says.

Maybe he did.

Bill looks at me. I must have said it out loud.

"Didn't you see that man yelling at Raymond?" I ask.

"Yeah. That's the guy I was telling you about."

We turn off the highway at the gas station and take the back way past McKenzie's. Sure enough, Dad's pickup is parked where I want it to be—in our driveway.

"Hi, troops," Dad says as we fill up the kitchen. He's sitting at the table with the plate of food Mom left. He looks tired, and his shirt and pants are grimy. But his face is clean. He's been here long enough to wash up. Then I see the clean socks on his feet. I guess he won't be home for long. It must be bad out there.

Mom doesn't even have to ask, she just puts her hand on his shoulder.

Dad shakes his head. "It's not looking so good." Then he says, "You kids go brush your teeth. I'll come say good night before I leave." He wants us out of the kitchen so they can talk.

Bill catches my eye and cocks his chin toward the hall, pulling Joe through the doorway by his shirt.

"What do you think is going on?" I ask. The voices in the kitchen are low now.

"Sherf was talking about the fire tonight before the game," Bill says. "They can't get a line around it. Until they do, nothing can stop it."

The living room window is dark. It's almost nine, past our bedtimes. Dad appears in the doorway.

"Do not worry about this," he says gently.

"What are you going to do?" Joe asks.

"We're going back out there, we're getting a line around that beast, and we're saving the timber." It's what he always says about forest fires.

"Do you have to go now?" I ask.

He nods. "'Fraid so, honey. They need me at fire camp."

I throw my arms around his waist. Dad hugs me close, and I'm wrapped in the smell of him—after-shave, pipe tobacco, forest, and smoke.

I don't want him to leave. I want him here. I want to tell him about Raymond—he'll know what to do. But in the next minute he's gone out the door and back to the fire.

The phone rings as I walk through the dark hall to my room. It's late for someone to be calling. If something's happened, why didn't it come over the radio?

I'm closest, so I pick it up. "Hello?"

"Raymond's been arrested for assault!" It's Jimmy, his voice breathless. In a quick tumble of words, he tells me. A sheriff's deputy roared up right after we left. Siren, lights, and everything. He grabbed Raymond and put him in handcuffs and pushed him down into the back seat of the patrol car. The whole thing took only seconds, and then Raymond was gone.

"Gotta go," Jimmy says. "Tell Bill he's back on the mound." And he hangs up.

I can't believe it. Raymond's in super-deep trouble, and somebody needs to know the whole story. He picked an innocent target, but Raymond has good reason to want to hurt somebody.

When I walk back into the living room, Mom asks, "Who was that?" Then she looks more closely at me. "Kitty ... what's wrong?" She takes my hand and gently pulls me over to the couch.

I slump down. "Bill gets to pitch." He looks surprised. I'm glad for him, but this isn't the way it should happen.

I take a deep breath and tell her everything—the handcuffs, the yelling at the game, all the way back to the black eye. All I know about how Walter treats Raymond and Jewel. Everything I've kept inside because I didn't know what else to do.

"Those poor kids," Mom says. "I had no idea that was going on. Why didn't you say something?"

I shake my head. "I just—" I'm afraid I'm going to cry. "I didn't think it would do any good."

Mom is quiet for a few moments. Then she puts both hands on my shoulders. "Honey, the police need to know about Raymond and his stepfather."

"
No.
" I jerk back. "I can't talk to them!"

"You know this is important." Mom holds me firmly, looks in my eyes. "You have to tell them what you saw."

T
HERE
is no arguing with Mom about something like this. She makes some calls in the morning, and right after breakfast, she and I head into Madras. The Jefferson County sheriff's office is right in the middle of town. Mom parks the car between two green and white cruisers.

I find a seat in the lobby while Mom talks to the officer behind the counter. I sit on the backs of my hands, keeping my legs off the sweaty plastic.

Mom comes back and sits down with me. "It will be a couple of minutes," she says. "They're waiting for the tribal police."

My stomach pulls tighter. "How many people do I have to talk to?"

I can tell she's trying to look reassuring, but it doesn't help. "Raymond's a tribal member and a juvenile. The Warm Springs police need to be involved."

It's not going to make any difference. Jewel said there's nothing they can do.

I distract myself by looking around at the knots of people in the quiet room. Some of them also have big troubles or they wouldn't be here.

Káthla
and Jewel come through the glass doors. Jewel helps her grandmother ease into a chair and then sets a paper sack down next to her. Maybe they've brought Raymond clean clothes or something to eat. Jewel goes up to the counter and stands for a while before the officer looks up. They talk briefly, then the officer points to the chairs and she sits back down.

In the meantime, Mom goes over to
Káthla.
"It's nice to see you again, Bessie." She sits with her hand on the back of
Káthla'
s chair. Now and then,
Káthla
puts a handkerchief up to her eyes as they talk.

I'm wondering if I should go too, when Jewel sees me. I wave, and she comes and sits down.

"We're going away," she says quietly. "Soon as we can get Raymond out of here."

"Where?"

"The mountains.
Káthla
says he's getting worse."

"Raymond?" I ask, then instantly feel stupid when I see the hurt in her face.

Jewel's eyes fill with tears, but she doesn't cry. "No," she whispers. "
Him.
"

We sit in silence for a few moments.

"The police can help you," I say finally. "I'm going to tell them about Walter..."

Jewel grabs the arm of my chair and stares me in the eye. She looks fierce and scared. "You can't say anything," she says. "If he finds out, he'll come right after us."

"If I tell them what Walter's done, he'll go to jail," I insist. "Then you'll be safe."

Desperation tightens Jewel's face. "You don't get it," she says, her voice hard and low. "They will
not
listen to
you.
" Tears glisten on her lashes. She wipes them away. "
Káthla
says they can't hold Raymond any longer. He's just a kid. He's getting released this morning, and she'll take us up to the huckleberry fields. Walter won't be able to find us there." Then she stands. "
Please,
" she says. "Do not tell
anybody.
" She walks across the room and slumps down in her chair.

A few minutes later, an officer opens a door and calls out Raymond's name. Jewel helps
Káthla
get up, and Mom hands her the sack. Jewel clasps her grandmother's arm, and together they walk across the lobby.

The glass doors open again, and an Indian policeman steps inside. It's the guy Joe talked to on the way to baseball practice last summer. Mr. Wewa. In his crisp uniform, he looks like he belongs here. But when he goes up to the counter, the officer makes him wait before he looks up. Then they talk briefly.

Mom walks over and introduces herself. Then she beckons to me. "Mr. Wewa," she says, "this is my daughter, Kitty."

Grownups don't usually shake hands with me, but he reaches out his hand, and his grip is solemn and soft. "You're doing the right thing," Mr. Wewa says.

A gray metal door opens and a deputy comes out. He holds a clipboard in his hand, a sheaf of pages flipped over. "Kitty Schlick," he calls out.

"All right," Mom says. "Here you go."

"
You're not coming with me?
" I can't keep the panic out of my voice.

"They asked me to wait out here." Mom smiles like she's trying to convince me. "I said it was OK."

"I'll be there too," Mr. Wewa says. He gestures for me to follow, and I make myself walk with him through the metal door.

The deputy leads us down a hall and into a small office. He points me to a chair, and we all sit around a table. He flips to a sheet that looks like a blank form. He clicks open his pen, then gives me what he must think is a friendly smile.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"Eleven. I'll be twelve in two weeks."

The deputy scribbles for a second, then says, "Your mom says you have information about the Danzuka case."

I just sit there. Jewel's fear weighs me down.

"Young lady," the officer says, his voice impatient, "what did you want to tell us?"

Mr. Wewa encourages me with a nod.

"Something happened at the game," I say. "To Raymond, before he threw the ball at that kid."

I tell them about Walter standing behind the backstop yelling mean things at Raymond. And more—about the beating and the government check and everything I know about what he's done to Raymond and Jewel. I feel horrible for telling, but they have to realize how bad things are. "You've got the wrong guy in jail," I say at the end.

The deputy doesn't write anything down. He just looks at me, frowning.

"Is that it?" he asks. "He called Raymond 'Chief'?"

I'm not sure what he means. "Yes, but there's all the rest, too." I feel stupid. It's clear that he doesn't believe me.

The deputy turns to Mr. Wewa. "A guy calls the boy 'Chief,' and he
attacks
a kid with a baseball?"

"It's an insult," Mr. Wewa says. "And possibly a form of abuse."

"Well, it's no defense," the deputy says, and he slaps all the pages back to the front of the clipboard.

I'm stunned. I told them everything I knew about Walter, even after Jewel begged me to stay quiet. And they're not going to do a thing to him.

"You can go," the deputy says.

My hands are shaking. I hold my breath and will myself not to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

Mr. Wewa walks me out into the hall. "Thank you for coming up here." His voice sounds so kind.

"
Káthla
and Jewel are really scared of him," I blurt. "They don't feel safe in their own house."

Mr. Wewa's face is serious. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

Jewel was right about the police. Saying any more won't make one bit of difference. And it could make things a whole lot worse if somehow Walter found out.

Mr. Wewa is watching my face. I don't trust my voice, so I simply shake my head.

I have just lied to a policeman.

"Well, if you hear anything," he says, "please ask your mother to call me."

I nod and get myself out of that hallway as fast as I can.

T
HE
telephone is my alarm clock in the morning. Mom answers and says, "Sure, Kitty's up. Just a sec."

She pokes her head in my door. "Pinky is back from the lookout. She wants you to come over."

And that lifts some of the gloom I've carried ever since I left the police station yesterday. I dash through breakfast and out into the morning. The air is cooler than it has been—dry and fresh. No clouds disturb the deep blue overhead. A perfect day now that Pinky is home.

She waits for me on the steps of her house right across the road from the bottom of the dusty trail.

"Hey—I thought you'd never get back!" I tell her, opening the gate.

"Mom sent me home from Sidwalter 'cause she's nervous about that fire and didn't want to have to worry about me, too."

I know her dad is out on the fire with my dad. "So, who's staying with you?" I ask.