The Buried Book (7 page)

CHAPTER 12

Children hear things. Sometimes they see things they’re not supposed to. Did you?

Labor Day came without so much as a break in the work or a chance to go back to the barn and read. Jasper couldn’t help but think of the kids back in Detroit as he helped his cousin and uncle rake the endless windrows before the hay baler rolled over them. They’d be playing in the park or begging the shop owners to open up a fire hydrant. Mrs. Carbo would’ve made her red, white, and blue frosted cookies down in the bakery, and the whole apartment would’ve smelled like burnt sugar.

“Hey! Quit daydreaming over there!” Wayne barked over the grumbling baler. “You’re gonna get run over!”

Jasper jumped out of the way and picked up his rake.

The sense of adventure had left the farm weeks ago. He missed his home. He missed running water and flushing toilets and the playground and his old bed. He missed the way his father would read him parts of the Sunday paper over toast.

Most of all he missed her.

The next morning, Jasper woke with a start. He’d dreamed he was falling again, only this time it was down a dark well. The echo of Sally screaming hung in his ears long after he jerked himself awake. He sucked in a breath and blinked the sleep from his eyes. The first tinge of dawn was still tucked behind the fields.

His pajamas were wet again. He climbed off the mattress, careful not to jostle Wayne, and assessed the damage. The extra towels Aunt Velma had put under his sheet were damp, but the bed beneath was dry. Jasper hung his head. Wayne hadn’t said anything about the towels, but he must’ve noticed. Jasper tore off his wet pajamas, letting his angry fingernails rake his skin raw.

Damn it!

He threw the wet pajamas and towels into the laundry basket Aunt Velma had hidden under the bed.

Cursing made him think of his mother. He slumped onto the side of the bed and pictured her in their kitchen, standing over the shards of some broken plate.
Damn it!
she’d yell. Then she’d remember Jasper was right there.
Sorry, hon . . . Hear no evil. Right, baby?

Huh?
Jasper would pretend to be deaf.

This almost always made her smile. Jasper squeezed his eyes shut before the tears could come. Her smile was the sun after a long cold rain.

“You nervous?”

Jasper jumped up at the sound of his cousin’s voice. “Huh? No . . . Well, sorta. Did I wake you?” He quickly pulled on his pants, mortified that Wayne might’ve been watching him the whole time.

“Miss Babcock is real nice. Don’t worry.” Wayne slid off the mattress. “Let’s get the chores done so we can get there early.”

The two boys fed the pigs and milked the cows before breakfast, with Wayne chatting the whole while. “The school’s called St. Clair Primary. It’s over on Jeddo Road about a mile from here. It’ll take us about fifteen minutes walkin’.”

“How many kids go there?”

“About fifty or so. They all come from the farms around here. School only goes up to eighth grade. I’ll have to go down to Port Huron in two years for high school,” Wayne explained, carrying two full buckets back up to the house.

“Fifty kids and just one teacher?” Jasper trailed after him with a basket of eggs plucked from the henhouse. He wasn’t really listening. All he could think about was her. It had been three weeks.

A half hour later, Wayne and Jasper were heading down the two-track drive out into the fields. The sun was warm, and the air smelled of fermenting apples and cut hay. The day would have been perfect if he wasn’t heading off to some strange school. Back in Detroit, the bus to Southpointe Elementary would be pulling away from his block right about then. He never really liked going to that school, but the fact that he wasn’t on the bus told him he might never go back.

In the distance, the stand of trees hid the crumbling house where his mother had grown up. His feet itched to go back there.

Wayne kept talking. “We could’ve gone down Harris, up St. Clair, and over to Jeddo, but this is the fastest way to go on foot.” He led Jasper through the field. They crossed over a small creek on a makeshift footbridge and hopped a low fence. “We’re on Mr. Hoyt’s land now. He don’t mind us cuttin’ through, but you don’t hop the fence unless you know Nicodemus is in the barn, understand?”

“Nicodemus?”

“Old Hoyt’s bull. He’s real mean. That son of a bitch almost gored me last year. He’s got horns like two daggers, and that bastard’s fast. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s out to kill me.”

Jasper’s eyes widened at the description of the bull and his cousin’s foul language. He scanned the field. There was a blood-red barn three hundred yards from the creek. The door was closed. “How’d you know he’s in the barn?”

“You see ’im?”

Jasper shook his head. “But how do you know when he’ll be out?”

“I don’t.” Wayne grinned. “Race ya!”

With that, the twelve-year-old took off running for the far fence. Jasper’s short legs were no match for his cousin’s long ones, but he was faster than he looked and took off after Wayne. As he sprinted the four hundred yards, he imagined the demon Nicodemus right on his tail. He could feel its hot breath on his neck. He glanced back and there was nothing there, but the more he thought about it, the faster his legs went, until he couldn’t think at all.

The two boys slammed into the fence at nearly the same time. “Shoot, Jasper! I didn’t know you could run like that.”

Jasper tried to smile, but the unbridled terror was still coursing through his veins. An image of his mother ran through his mind. Something was chasing her. He shook it off and pulled himself over the fence and headed down to Jeddo Road with his cousin grinning after him.

Halfway down the road, Jasper glanced back over his shoulder at the clapboard house where Old Hoyt still lived. The white paint was peeling and one of the green shutters hung loose from a nail.

A curtain moved aside in Hoyt’s window. A pale face peered out from behind the glass. Jasper squinted at the hanging jowls, sagging eyes, and a frown of mouth.

“Hey there, Mr. Hoyt!” Wayne called out and waved.

The curtain fell closed again without a response. Jasper whipped his head back around and kept walking, but he could feel a pair of eyes following him the whole way to the schoolhouse. Wayne didn’t seem to notice.

The teacher greeted the two boys at the door. “Good morning, Wayne!”

“Morning, Miss Babcock. This is my cousin Jasper Leary.”

“Hello, Jasper!” She knelt down to size him up. “Welcome to St. Clair Primary. How old are you?”

“Nine,” Jasper replied, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Well then. You’ll be sitting in the third row.” She stood to hold the door open, and the boys stepped into a large room. There was a slate blackboard at the front of the room and five rows of wood desks lined up like church pews. A black woodstove sat unlit in a corner. There was a hand-painted sign next to it that read “Wandering Hands Get Burned.”

Jasper found a seat in the third row, and Wayne picked a spot in the back. They were the first kids in the room, and Miss Babcock followed Jasper to his seat.

“Did you finish third grade, Jasper?” she asked, standing in front of his desk.

He nodded his head, keeping his eyes on the hem of her long skirt.

“Did you like it?”

He kept his eyes down and nodded again. He hated his old school, but at that moment he missed it so bad it hurt.

“Well, you’ll find school here to be a little different. You don’t have to stick to only fourth grade lessons. You can do fifth or sixth grade lessons if you like. You can do third grade things too. There’s only one rule in this school.”

He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. Finally, he had no choice but to look up at her face. Her eyes were kind but not smiling anymore.

“You must be your best self while you’re here. I will not tolerate lying, cheating, stealing, interruptions, or laziness.”

He glanced up at the wooden paddle hanging above her desk then back down at the wood-plank floor.

“Can you be your best self, Jasper?” She crouched down in front of him and lifted his chin until they were eye to eye. For a split second, he was terrified she was looking right into his soul and could see all the ugly things inside it. All the things that had made his mother leave him.

He shut his eyes and nodded.

CHAPTER 13

Tell me about your neighbors. Were you particularly close to any of them?

August 13, 1928

I hoped he’d forget. But I’ve never been lucky. I was born under a bad moon, that’s what Mama told me that time when I accidentally broke her favorite vase. Seemed like an awfully mean thing to say over a really ugly piece of pottery she’d gotten across the river, but maybe she was right. Maybe I was born bad.

Mr. Hoyt came by today to talk to Papa about something boring, but then he motioned me over and patted his knee for me. I’m fourteen years old and far too big to sit on a lap, but I did it anyway.

“Althea here’s growin’ up to be a fine young lady, John. Don’t you think?” he said, smiling that strange smile of his.

“She sure is, Art. Sometimes I think she’s gettin’ a bit too big for her britches.” Papa laughed. He didn’t seem bothered at all that Mr. Hoyt had his hand on my shoulder.

“Could you spare her a couple afternoons a week? My Alice is having a harder time keepin’ up with the housework since Maureen up and got married. We’d pay. How does a nickel an hour sound?”

I wanted to jump off Hoyt’s leg and scream, but Papa just seemed pleased as punch. “Well, sure.”

“But, Papa!” I practically yelled. “I—I have so many chores here. And in a few weeks there’ll be schoolwork.”

“Althea, hush. A little hard work never did anybody any harm. You’re always asking for new dresses and the like. Now you can earn the money for ’em. I dare say Mr. Hoyt here’s being all too generous.”

And just like that I was sold into slavery by my own father!

“Wonderful. Why don’t you send her over tomorrow after lunch then.” Mr. Hoyt patted my back, then put his hands on my waist and lifted me off his knee.

The minute he left, I begged Papa to undo the deal, but he wouldn’t have it. He said we’ve been hurtin’ for money for too long and it was high time I was put to good use. I screamed at the top of my lungs that I did all my chores every day and I worked hard in school and how could he single me out and not Perfect Pearl or Leo.

Turns out, I got my whupping anyway.

Jasper read the entry again nice and slow just to be sure. Wayne wasn’t there to help him this time and complain about all the girlie whatnot, but he’d done his job. Jasper could see the words coming out of the mess of swirled ink. The same thing had happened when he was four. One day he picked up his favorite book about the little blue engine, and he didn’t just see the letters his mother had taught him. He could see all the words he knew by heart jumping off the page.

Pride over his achievement was short-lived as he read the words again and thought of his mother sitting on Old Mr. Hoyt’s lap with his pale face and sagging frown.

August 14, 1928

Well, that was unexpected. I showed up at Mr. Hoyt’s farm today just as planned to go and help his wife, Alice. I expected to do dishes, wash clothes, and other horrible hand-cracking things. Instead, Mr. Hoyt met me at the front door and led me straight away into the barn.

“You seem like a real bright girl, Althea,” he said as he closed the door.

“I do? I was just thinking the opposite,” I said. Mrs. Hoyt was nowhere to be seen and Mr. Hoyt had on that strange smile again.

“How’d you like to make some real money?” he asked and put an arm around my shoulder. “Pretty girl like you can go far.”

“What do you mean?” Being a girl has never been anything but a burden to me on the farm, and something told me that wasn’t about to change.

“You ever tried giggle water?” he asked. He went over to a corner of his barn and pulled out a big brown jug. He bit the cork out and waved it under my nose. Whatever was inside burned my nostrils.

“No, sir.” I took a big step back and eyed the door. Whatever he was suggesting was sounding pretty bad to me.

“Good. I don’t want you sampling the wares.” He rammed the cork back into the neck of the jug. “I need you to make deliveries.”

“Deliveries?” I felt the squirrels in my stomach quiet down. I could make deliveries.

“Can you drive a horse cart?”

“Of course. Papa’s been having me drive since I was six.”

“Excellent. I’ll load up a cart, and you’ll drive it to the places I say. Understand?”

“Is that all?” No washing, no chopping wood. Just driving. It was too good to be true. I would just have to ignore what Papa says about those types of things. Papa and I don’t agree on much anyhow.

“Yep. Got my first delivery tomorrow. Can you be here at three?” he asked.

I agreed and followed him out of the barn past that pathetic little horse of his. I paused to look at the colt. I don’t know why I asked, “What’s his racing name going to be?”

Mr. Hoyt started laughing that hot-air laugh again and said, “You wanna name it?”

I shook my head and told him I didn’t. I’ve always been bad luck.

“Hey, kid. Get your nose out of that book before someone sees you.” Wayne smacked it out of Jasper’s hand and handed him a shovel. “We have to clean out the stalls today. You know, I really don’t think you should be reading that.”

“I thought you said it didn’t matter since she’s not here.” Jasper scowled at his cousin and snatched the book off the dirt.

“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe this stuff isn’t for a little kid to read. Ever think of that?” Wayne grabbed the diary and shoved it back between the siding boards. “Just don’t let Pop find you reading it.”

Jasper’s eyes widened at how easily his cousin had crept up on him. He made a mental note to be more careful. It also occurred to him that Wayne with the disapproving look in his eye might just take the book away himself. He’d have to find a new hiding spot.

The two boys spent that Saturday morning shoveling manure out of the barn and laying down fresh straw. Every time a car rolled down Harris Road, Jasper would stop in his tracks and wait for that rusted pickup to appear. It never did.

After lunch came and went, Jasper realized his dad probably wasn’t coming.

Around three o’clock that afternoon, Wayne came and found him sitting under a tree by Sally’s well. The stone cap was back in its place, and the ground no longer stank of bile and blood. The tree where he sat still had scars from where the tieback ropes had broken the bark.

“Hey. You alright?” Wayne kicked his boot.

Jasper shrugged. His first week of school had been relatively uneventful. He’d learned the names of everyone in all the grades but hadn’t made any real friends yet, except Miss Babcock. But she didn’t really count.

“Say, I know what’ll cheer you up. I think I just convinced the old man to take us into Burtchville after supper. Want to go try roller-skating?”

“Do you really think your pop will let me go?” Jasper leapt to his feet with only one thing on his mind. According to that sheriff at the Tally Ho, Big Bill knew his mother.

“Sure. Go get changed.”

The roller rink was called Mr. G’s Skating Club. Uncle Leo dropped the two boys off with fifty cents each. “Be back in a couple hours. You two better stay out of trouble. Understood?”

Both boys nodded as they scrambled out of the truck. Wayne went racing to the door, but Jasper stopped and turned to his uncle. “Thank you, sir. I’m . . .” He couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. It was somewhere between a sorry and a thank-you. He was still a guest in his uncle’s house and didn’t know when either of his parents might come back for him.

Uncle Leo waved a hand at him. “Try to have some fun. Go on and git.”

Jasper nodded and ran after Wayne.

The roller rink looked like a big blue barn from the outside, but inside it was like nothing Jasper had ever seen. Big flashing lights of every color lit up the walls and the polished wood floor. Music blared over the loudspeaker, and what seemed like hundreds of kids were racing by in a squealing blur. There were food stands lining the edges of the rink, selling hot dogs, soda pop, and penny candy. The smell of fresh popcorn hung in a buttery fog over everything.

Wayne was over at the main counter getting a pair of roller skates. Each pair cost fifty cents to rent for two hours. Jasper had never skated before in his life and watched with fascination as his cousin traded his filthy work boots for a pair of green-and-red shoes with shiny black wheels on the bottom.

“Ain’t nothin’ to it!” Wayne said, lacing up the skates. He stood up and spun around Jasper in a tight circle. “Go get yourself a pair. I’ll be out there.”

With that, Wayne flew off to the rink to join the other boys and girls circling the floor. A clinking piano rang out over the PA. A brassy woman’s voice belted out a song about candy.

A grizzled giant stood behind the counter, oiling up skates. He had gray stubble all over his fat cheeks and a half-chewed cigar hanging from his mouth. He tested the roll of a skate with a hand that looked tough enough to crush stone. His name tag read “Bill.” From his enormous belly, Jasper could only assume this was the Big Bill that might know where his mother had gone.

“Ex—excuse me?” Jasper stepped up to the counter.

“Can I help you?” the man barked.

“Um . . . I—I don’t know.”

“You’re gonna have to speak up, kid.” Bill pointed to his ear.

“Are you . . . are you Big Bill? From Steamboat’s?” Jasper shouted as loud as he dared.

The man dropped the rag in his hand and let the skate roll down the counter. “What the hell you know about Steamboat’s?”

“Not . . . nothin’ really. I heard my dad talkin’ about it.”

“Who?” The man seemed angry. He snatched the skate and stuffed it back in a cubby below the counter.

Jasper’s feet wanted to run, but he forced them to stay put. This might be his only chance. “I think . . . I think you knew my mom?”

“Did I?” Bill lowered his elbows to the counter and glowered over the edge at Jasper, who was feeling shorter by the second.

“Her name is Althea. Althea . . . Williams.” Jasper guessed Bill wouldn’t know her married name.

The man’s hard face softened into a grin. He straightened up and laughed. “Althea Williams. Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch. You’re Althea’s boy? Let me look at ya.” Bill grabbed him by the chin and studied his face. “Yep. You sure are, aren’t ya?”

He stubbed out his cigar and lumbered out from behind the rental desk. Clapping Jasper hard on the shoulder, he led him to a bench and sat him down.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Jasper. Jasper Leary.”

“What’s your pop’s name?”

All the questions were making him nervous, but he answered, “Wendell Leary.”

“Don’t know him. Hmm. Your mom was really somethin’, kid. Used to turn heads and then some. What’s she up to now?” Big Bill craned his neck and scanned the walls, looking for her.

“I—I don’t know.” He didn’t want to say any more, he realized. He’d probably already said too much. Jasper’s heart tightened thinking about her car hidden away in the woods.
What if she was hiding too?

The consternation must have been written all over his face, because Bill nodded ever so slightly. “You don’t know.”

Jasper didn’t say a word.

“Huh. Wish I could say that surprises me. Althea had a way of finding trouble. Or letting trouble find her.”

Jasper couldn’t help but ask more. “I heard that once she sorta . . . blew up something and that you . . . you might’ve shot her?”

Bill raised his eyebrows but looked a little less amused. “Sounds like someone’s been listening to other people’s stories.”

Jasper shrugged and studied his feet. The man wasn’t wrong. “Did she work for you?”

“She worked over at the old diner for a while. Back when she was just a messed-up kid. Like I said, trouble seemed to find Althea wherever she went, but I’d have never shot her. Besides, I don’t think that fire was all her fault. She’d gone and got herself mixed up with them wild folks over at the res. Motega came in and started raising hell. I warned her to stay away from him.”

“Motega?”

“Hey, little snooper. Don’t get any ideas about pokin’ around over there. Black River ain’t no place for a kid. People get killed messin’ around up there. Heard a bunch of ’em just got run up for murder. That poor girl . . .”

“What girl?”

Big Bill shot him a warning look. “You better just start mindin’ your own business.”

Wayne sailed by on skates and gave him a scowl. Jasper hardly noticed.
What girl?

The giant man next to him nodded like he could hear the wheels turning in Jasper’s head. “Shoot. You’re just like her, ain’t ya?”

Jasper straightened his back. “No. I’m not.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. Not really. I always did have a soft spot for Althea. She was such a beauty. Too bad she couldn’t help stickin’ her nose where it didn’t belong. You can see where that got her.” The man patted him on the back.

The unwanted gesture made weeks of anger boil up in Jasper’s blood. He stood up and shouted, “Have you seen her or not?”

Big Bill chuckled and stood up from the bench. He made Jasper follow him all the way back to the counter before he answered, “Nope. Not in a while. But you tell her to come see me when you find her. She and I should talk.”

“What do you mean?”

The man didn’t answer. He just studied the boy’s face like he was looking for something that was missing. Two men walked up to the counter, and Big Bill turned his attention to them. “Perry! Taki! How you boys doin’ tonight?”

“Just fine, William. Looks like business is booming.” The older man grinned. He had silver hair and thick black eyebrows. He set a briefcase down on the counter. “Who knew this roller-skating was such a gold mine?”

“It’s these kids. What can I say? Seven days a week, they love it. The money practically prints itself.” Bill rolled a pair of skates over to Jasper. “That’ll be fifty cents, kid.”