The Crossroads (13 page)

That week's
front page of the
North Chester Telegraph
ran a feature story about Mary O'Claire.

“MIRACLE MARY” DIES

NORTH CHESTER—“Miracle Mary” O'Claire, the sole survivor of the Greyhound bus accident of June 21, 1958, died in her sleep at the County Rest Home on Monday night.

She was called Miracle Mary because she walked away from the infamous bus wreck that killed 38 passengers, the driver, and the occupant of the Ford Thunderbird it collided with. She was the only survivor.

Miracle Mary boarded the Greyhound Scenicruiser in Massachusetts. When the bus neared North Chester, it was broadsided by a Ford Thunderbird convertible driven by a Spratling Clockworks employee named Clint Eberhart. Mr. Eberhart had been traveling south on Highway 31. The bus was headed east on Route 13. A state motorcycle trooper was also killed that night, raising the total number of casualties to 41.

The accident, still the worst in county history, led to public safety hearings and the installation of a blinking red light at the crossroads of 13 and 31.

After escaping the bus wreck uninjured, Mary O'Claire disappeared from the public spotlight. Her son, born three months after the accident, later achieved his own notoriety.

In 1983, at the age of 25, Thomas (Tommy) O'Claire and his wife, Alice, were gunned down by Sheriff James Jennings in what was described as the “tragic and fatal conclusion to a bungled blackmail scheme.” The shootings took place outside Spratling Manor.

Miracle Mary is survived by one grandson, William O'Claire, a plumber who still works in the North Chester area. Mr. O'Claire could not be reached for comment.

Zack stood
barefoot on top of the rock jutting out over the swimming hole.

“Jump in, sport!” Davy floated in the water below. “There ain't nothin' to be scared of!”

“I didn't see
you
jump in!” Zack shouted to Davy.

“Don't worry. Water's over ten feet deep. You won't crack open your head bone!”

“But the water's freezing!”

“Wait for the sun. Here it comes. Clouds are partin'! Jump, Zack! Jump!”

For the first time in his life, Zack did something he knew was extremely foolish. He went running across the slick stone and kept running after he reached its edge.

“Geronimo!” He plunged feetfirst into the frigid pool and sent up a foamy geyser.

It was dark and cold underwater. Zack should have been terrified, but instead he felt exhilarated. His toes touched the slimy creek bottom, so he pushed off and kicked his way back to the surface.

“Whoo-hoo!” he screamed through a rush of bubbles when he sprang up. “Whoo-hoo!”

“By jingo, you did it, Zack! You dove off Dead Man's Bluff.”

“I want to do it again!”

“All rightie. Have at it!”

Zack swam to the shore and hauled himself out of the water. The pockets of his cargo shorts bloated out into water balloons.

“This time, I'm gonna do a cannonball!”

Zack clambered up the cliff and took off running. He leapt and kicked and climbed into the air. He tucked his knees up to his chest and screamed as he plummeted into the briny depths of the bounding main. He smacked the top of the water with a stinging, thumping whack.

“Whoo-hoo!”

When Zack bobbed back up to the surface, he saw Davy in the woods, pulling on his overalls.

“Hey, where you goin'?” In the distance, Zack could hear a bell softly chiming.

“Pops is ringing the bell. Must need me to do some chores.”

“What? It's Saturday. Nobody works on Saturdays.”

“Farmers do.”

“Oh. But what about the big plan?”

“You know what we need next.”

“Sure, but…”

“You'll find it just where I said.”

“But…”

“What's wrong, Zack? Somethin's troublin' you, I can tell.”

“Promise you won't laugh?” Zack climbed out of the pond and pulled his T-shirt off the branch where he had hung it.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Well, what if…” Zack hesitated.

“What if what?”

“What if Kyle Snertz sees me?”

“That don't make no nevermind.”

“It doesn't, hunh?”

“That boy's all wax and no wick. If he gives you any guff, just give it right back.”

“How?”

“I reckon you could always pants him.”

“
Pants
him?”

“Yes, sir. Just pull down his trousers and show everybody his underwear! That usually works.”

“Really?” Zack sounded doubtful.

“Or you could give him a wedgie. Tug real hard and pull his underpants up into his butt crack.”

“I see.”

Zack wished Davy had some better ideas on how to defend himself against Kyle Snertz. Ideas that didn't involve underwear.

“Pants him or pull a wedgie, hunh?”

“Yes, sir. Either one will do the trick.”

The bell tolled louder in the distance.

“Jiminy Christmas, I best run. See you later, pardner!”

Davy scampered up the hillside and disappeared into the forest. That meant Zack would have to face his demons alone.

Especially the one named Kyle Snertz.

Judy sat
on the back porch with the newspaper, a yellow legal pad, and a big jug of sun tea.

George was at his office in New York—even though it was Saturday—making final arrangements for his trip to Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia, on Monday night. Zack was off playing with Davy. Judy was ready to start working her puzzle.

On her pad, she had already jotted down some notes from her conversation with Gerda Spratling: June 21, 1958. Clint.

Now she added some items she had circled in the newspaper story about Miracle Mary O'Claire: Greyhound bus accident. June 21, 1958. Thirty-nine dead on bus. Clint Eberhart dead in Thunderbird. Motorcycle cop killed. Intersection of 13 and 31.

She sipped some tea.

Miss Spratling's Clint had to be this Clint Eberhart. He died after his car collided with the bus in the crossroads.

She remembered something else Miss Spratling had said: “They ran him off the road.”

Probably up the embankment and into the oak tree.

She wanted to go find Bud. The neighbor who had helped fix her flat tire. He worked for Greyhound. Maybe he knew more of the story. She also wanted to go see Mrs. Emerson down at the library, see what she could find in the local history books and old newspapers.

Zack and Zipper came running into the backyard. Zipper's paws were muddy, his underbelly a collection of matted muck. Zack's shorts were dripping wet.

Okay. The puzzle may have to wait until after a load of laundry.

“How'd you guys get so soaked?”

“Davy and I found a secret lagoon.”

“Really?”

“Actually, I think it's a cow pond.”

“I like the sound of ‘lagoon' better,” said Judy.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Bet it felt good. On a hot day like this.”

“Yep. Real good.”

“Well, why don't you clean up Zipper, then run inside and put on something dry.”

“Okay.”

“You want to go down to the library with me later?”

“Maybe. Can I grab something to eat first?”

“Oh. Sure. I can make you a sandwich.”

“That's okay. I'll just, you know, fix it myself.”

“I promise I won't toast, bake, or broil.”

“I'll just do a PB and J. And then I might take a shower.”

Judy grinned. “You don't want to go to the library, do you?”

“Not really. Not today. I mean, it's Saturday and all.”

“You're right,” Judy said. “Go get cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

Zack ran into the house.

Judy glanced back at her notes.

June 21.

June 21 was the summer solstice. The longest day of the year. The shortest night.

1958.

Fifty years ago this Wednesday.

She wondered if Miss Spratling had anything special planned for the anniversary.

Zack found
the dog's towel hanging in the mudroom and swiped it under Zipper's belly before he grabbed the dog by the collar.

“Sorry, Zip. You need to wait upstairs.”

Zipper dug his hind legs into the thistle rug and tried to sit down while Zack tried to pull him forward. Finally, Zack scooped Zipper up, cradled him in his arms, and carried the dog upstairs to his bedroom. He didn't waste time changing into dry shorts or taking a shower. He closed the door and stood in the hall.

“I'll be right back,” he said through the door. “And remember—no barking!”

Zipper barked.

“Zipper?”

Zack heard whimpering on the other side. But no more barks.

He raced down the steps and went to the front hall to retrieve the hacksaw he had hidden in the closet the night before. Since Judy was still out on the back porch, he slowly opened the front door, careful not to let it make any noise—even when he eased it shut again. Once outside, Zack turned right and ran toward a house being built three doors up the block.

He saw a pile of neatly stacked lumber, but Zack wasn't interested in free wood today. He scaled the cinder-block foundation and trotted across the decking to find the treasure hidden out back.

There it was, just where Davy had said it would be: a shiny steel toolbox tucked up against the foundation.

Zack jumped down to the cement-splattered clay and examined the lock. Davy had told him its shackle was made with a “cut-resistant alloy” and warned Zack that it might take half an hour to hacksaw through it.

But we need the galdern tool!

That's why he added a shower and a sandwich to the list of things he supposedly needed to take care of inside the house. Judy wouldn't start wondering where he was for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes.

Zack started sawing. A thin dust of metal filings hit the dirt near his knees. Five minutes later, his hair was soaking wet from exertion, but the cut was only an eighth of an inch deep. He might be out here for over an hour.

Judy will come into the house looking for you! Saw faster, pal! Faster! Give her some galdern elbow grease!

Zack took in a deep breath and, grunting, put everything he had into his hacksaw thrusts. A drop of bubbly sweat fell on his knee.

It took Zack an instant to realize it wasn't sweat.

It was spit.

“What you doin' down there, Barbie?”

Zack looked up.

Kyle Snertz loomed over him. The sneering bully hawked up another slimy wad, juiced his lips, and let loose a thick chunk of spit. The spew smeared across Zack's glasses.

“I said, what are you doin',
Bar-bie
?”

“Nothing” was the best Zack could come up with.

“Hah!”

Snertz leapt down. His three buddies came bounding down after him.

“Well, well, well. Barbie here is trying to bust into a toolbox.”

“No, I'm not.”

“That's
my
toolbox. We got first dibs.”

One of Snertz's cronies held a heavy-duty bolt cutter with three-foot-long handles.

“I only need one tool,” said Zack. “You guys can have the rest. Okay?”

“Hah!” said Snertz. “All the tools in that box belong to me! I need 'em to build a railroad.”

Zack was confused. “A railroad?”

“Yeah. On your chest!” Snertz shoved Zack backward, knocked him to the ground, sat on his stomach, and started pummeling his rib cage.

“First we need to crush the rocks!”

“Hey! Get off of me!”

Snertz pinned Zack's arms underneath his knees.

“I said get off of me, snothead!”

“What? What'd you call me?”

Furious, Snertz ripped open Zack's T-shirt and rasped a knuckled fist up his sternum—leaving behind a raw ribbon of skin burn.

“Get off of me!”

“Uh-oh! Rocks. Little bitty boulders.” Snertz twisted Zack's nipples. “We may need dynamite!” He slammed his fists like wet, meaty sledgehammers against Zack's chest and made explosion noises.

Zack refused to cry. The punches and pinches hurt, but he would not cry.

Pants him!

Zack heard Davy's voice in his head, remembered his friend's stupid advice.

“Time to drive in the stakes!”

Snertz found a jagged chunk of concrete broken off the corner of a cinder block. He studied Zack's exposed chest, considered where to scrape first.

“Get off of me!”

With a back-arching thrust, Zack freed his arms, grabbed Snertz's belt loops, and yanked his shorts down to his knees.

The other boys started to laugh. Snertz's face went fish-belly white.

The bully was wearing diapers! Disposable training pants. Zack saw cute little jungle critters dotting crinkled plastic. Apparently, Kyle wasn't properly potty trained and his parents made him take the necessary precautions.

“Gross, Snertz,” one of the boys said. “You wear diapers?”

“Shuddup!”

The other boys started waving the air in front of their faces and laughed even louder.

“No wonder he stinks all the time.”

“Hey, pantsload!”

Now Kyle Snertz was the one with a new nickname.

He didn't waste time buttoning his shorts; he held the front flaps together with one hand so they wouldn't fall down while he ran home—probably to hide in his room and cry.

Buh-bye, pantsload!

 

The other
boys stuck around. When Zack told them what he and Davy were planning to do, they were eager to help. They used the bolt cutter to snap open the lock, and Zack pulled out the treasure he had come here to retrieve: a cordless drill with an extremely long, one-inch auger bit.

Zack would bring the drill back when the job was done. But he and Davy really needed the tool for a day or two because it had the kind of bit that could easily bore its way down into a stump.