The Prophet of Yonwood (14 page)

The cars started up their engines and drove off down the driveway. Hoyt stood where he was, watching until both cars had turned onto Raven Road. Grover waited for him to go back inside, but he kept standing there, and finally Grover realized that Hoyt was looking right athim.

I see my trespasser is back, Hoyt said. There was no anger in his tone.

Im leaving, said Grover. I just wanted to see what was going on.

Since youre here, said Hoyt, let me tell you something.

Uh-oh, thought Grover. Now I get yelled at. But he stood his ground. At least no one was shooting at him.

Hoyt came down the steps, stalked over to Grover, and stood right in front of him. There were grease stains on his sweater, Grover noticed, and his pants were unraveling at the cuffs. He smelled like burned toast. What Lady Brenda doesnt know, Hoyt said, is that she has the wrong information. Heaven ismy territory. I know what goes on there. I know what the universe has in store for us.

You do? said Grover. Not being yelled at surprised him so much that he answered as if they were having a normal conversation.

As well as anyone, said Hoyt.

Well, said Grover, whatdoes the universe have in store?

Ceaseless marvels, said Hoyt McCoy. Infinite astonishment. But only for those who care to pay attention.

I saw a crack of light over your house, Grover said.

Aha, said Hoyt. He narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Grover. Never mind aboutthat, he said.

Why? said Grover. Is it a secret?

Hoyt McCoy ignored his question. If you were to simply ring my doorbell like a civilized person instead of sneaking around my property, I might show you a few things. Assuming you were interested.

But Grover wasnt nearly interested enough for that. Maybe sometime, he said. But right now I have to go. He moved backward a few steps.

Let me tell you one more thing, said Hoyt, raising his voice. You may tell this to your Mrs. Beeson, if you like, who likes everything to be neat and clean and normal. I amnot particularly neat or clean; I am certainlynot what anyone would call normal. But I am asgood as anyone else.

And very loony, thought Grover. He murmured a few more polite words and made his exit, trotting down the gravel drive and heading home with a great sense of relief.

Grover couldnt sleep that night. Thoughts swarmed through his mind; he couldnt shut them off. So he got up, being quiet so he wouldnt wake his brothers. He put his clothes on and went outside. He would take a short, fast walkjust up the hill to Main Street, down a few blocks, and back home. Hed done it before when he couldnt sleep, and it usually helped.

He wasnt afraid. There was nothing in Yonwood that could hurt him, unless that terrorist was roaming around town again. And if he was, Grover could watch him from some safe place and see what he was up to and turn him in. The thought was invigorating. Grover started off. He climbed the hill at a rapid pace, breathing in cold night air, looking up at the stars, wondering why he didnt do this more often. Being out alone at night made him feel free.

He went up Trillium Street, around behind the Cozy Corner (no terrorists there tonight), and down Main Street, where the streetlamps were out, as they were all over town. He saw nothing stirringnot a night watchman or an alley cat or even a spideruntil, as he passed the dark windows of the grocery store, he happened to glance up Grackle Street and saw someone about a block away. Whoever it was didnt walk purposefully but drifted a little this way, a little that way, as if lost or looking for something. Was it a sleepwalker? Grover stopped and stared. He was too far away to be sure who he was seeing, but suddenly he thought he knew. It must be her; it was the right street. Why would she be outside? She seemed to be wearingwhat? A nightgown? Something pale and floaty. He started in that direction. But before hed gone more than a few steps, another figure appeared, a skinny girl, who dashed up behind the lost-looking one and took her arm and led her back into the house.

Grover turned downhill and headed for home. What hed seen had given him a sad, shaky feeling. Poor Prophet, he thought. It must be awful to have God speak to you and turn your mind to ashes.

CHAPTER 19 ______________

Blue Envelopes

Nickie woke on Tuesday morning to the sound of rain roaring on the roof and slashing against the window glass, coming in gusts as the wind blew one way and then another. It was the sort of day when you want to stay inside, make a fire, and sit by it with your cup of hot chocolate. But of course Nickie had given up hot chocolate, so she drank mint tea that morning instead. She actually felt quite virtuous doing it, because it was so hard. She could tell that her willpower was being exercised, like a muscle. This didnt make herhappy, exactly. She missed the chocolate. But it made her feel strong. Could it be that the more things you gave up, the stronger you would feel?

Crystal went out early to talk with Len about plans for the open house. Meet me at the caft six, she said as she went out the door. Well have dinner together and you can tell me all about your adventures.

Otiss outing was very short that morning. He stood on the threshold of the back door and looked doubtfully at the rain. Nickie had to push him outside. Once there, he did his duty in record time and dashed back in. Nickie took him upstairs.

The nursery room was especially cozy that morning, with the sky so dark outside, and the sound of the rain on the windows, and the pools of golden light from the lamps. Nickie set Otis up on the window seat and gave him a new bone to chew. She propped up some cushions to lean against, and then she looked around for something to read. Her eyes fell on the books that Amanda had left behind. Why not try one of those? She picked the one with the dark-haired beauty on the cover and opened it at random:

In the candlelight, Blaines eyes glittered like jewels. Clarissa caught her breath as he leaned toward her. What a magnificent man he was! His square jaw, his thick glossy black hair, his wide shouldersher heart raced. When he reached out and stroked her cheek, she trembled all over. Blaine, she said. You must never leave me. I want to be with you always.

Nickie raised her eyes to the rain-spattered window. She tried to imagine feeling this way about someone. First she pictured Martin, with his hazel eyes and short red hair. Did she think he was magnificent? Not really. He seemed nice, and he was on the side of goodness. But he didnt make her heart race. She pictured Grover instead. His hair was cute, in a floppy sort of way. He was smart and interesting. He had a sense of humor, if you liked that kind of humor. But he was also a bit peculiar. She had no idea if he was on the side of goodness or not. And she certainly wouldnt say he was magnificent. If he stroked her cheek, would her heart race? No. She would think it was weird and creepy. Did she want to be with him always? Definitely not. It was hard to imagine wanting to be with anyonealways. Thered be times when you wanted to be alone, or with someone else.

She turned a few pages and read some more:

Clarissa fled down the stone steps to the windswept beach, her raven tresses flowing out behind her. She scanned the empty sands, and when she saw no sign of Blaine, a great cry of anguish escaped her lips. She could not live without him! She would sooner die!

Nickie shut the book. There was no doubt about it: if that was love, she was not in love with Martinor Grover. She could live without either of them perfectly well.

She looked out the window, where the rain was still pelting down. At the end of the block, she noticed someone approaching, wearing a wide-brimmed pink rain hat and carrying a canvas tote bag. When the person came closer, she saw who it was: Mrs. Beeson! How perfect. If she ran fast downstairs, she could catch her and ask her what had happened to horrible Hoyt McCoy.

She didnt bother to grab an umbrellashe just threw on her jacket and ran out into the rain. Rivers of water streamed through the gutters. All along the street, bare tree branches flailed against house walls and shut-tight windows. She ran to meet Mrs. Beeson, who smiled when she saw Nickie coming.

Hi! said Nickie. I saw you from the window, and I was wondering

I was just thinking of you, Mrs. Beeson said. She looked a little frazzled around the edges. Her lipstick was slightly crooked, and her ponytail, beneath the rain hat, was damp and drooping. Youve been such a help. Walk with me, if youd like. Im delivering a few notices.

Notices? said Nickie.

Yes, urgent ones. Im getting a little impatient. Here we have such a miraculous chance to save ourselves, and a few people are about to ruin it for everyone. Such selfishness! I have to make them understand. We have a terrorist in the woods! The Crisis gets worse all the time! In three days we might face war! Mrs. Beeson shook her head at peoples foolishness. So Ive decided its time to take some drastic action. Ive done the downhill ones and most of the uphill; only one more to go. She drew Nickie in next to her, under the umbrella. Her sugary smell enveloped them both.

What are the notices about? Nickie asked.

But Mrs. Beeson was already on a different subject. It was just too bad about Hoyt McCoy, she said, wasnt it? About your mistake, I mean, honey. But I still feel sure that he has something to hide. Dont you?

Nickie was puzzled. I dontknow what happened with Hoyt McCoy, she said. Thats what I wanted to ask you. Didnt you arrest him? Did I make a mistake?

Mrs. Beeson looked at her in surprise. You didnt know? She explained about the police action and the rifle that was really a telescope. However, she said, Im sure we were rightessentially. He just reeks of wrongness. I canfeel it, and doing this work makes me trust my feelings more every day. Its just a matter of catching him in the act, thats all. But never mind. Heres the last house.

Nickie was so stunned by this news about Hoyt McCoy that she could hardly breathe. A telescope! And the police had gone out and aimed guns at him! Because of her.

They had stopped at a brick house with a collapsing woodshed next to it. Mrs. Beeson opened the mailbox. She reached into the canvas bag and took out a blue envelope. In the upper left corner were the words Urgent: From B. Beeson. She put it in the mailbox, and they moved on.

Nickie started to ask again what was in the envelopes, but Mrs. Beeson was already talking. Sometimes Im sorry this ever happened, she said. That vision of Altheas, and then the instructions afterward. Some parts of it are very hard. The punishment part, for instance.

Punishment? said Nickie.

Mrs. Beeson turned a corner and headed up Fern Street, walking so quickly that Nickie kept getting left behind. Yes, for people who just wont cooperate, Mrs. Beeson said. We cant allow that, can we? It would be letting down everyone else in Yonwood.

Whats the punishment? Nickie asked.

But Mrs. Beeson must not have heard her over the splash of the rain. Its such a responsibility, she went on. Ive agonized over it, I must admit. Some of the things she saysI dont know. I hate to think she really means She shook her head, staring down at the wet sidewalk. I just hesitate to

Then suddenly she stopped, and a little rush of water flowed off the top of her pink hat onto Nickies head. Her voice became strong again. What am I saying? I hesitate? Just because something is hard? Just because it means making a sacrifice? No, no, no. Thats what faith is, isnt it? Believing even when you dont understand.

Nickie looked up at her. She was gazing at the sky, her eyes shining, paying no attention to the rain falling on her face. It is? Nickie said.

Yes, said Mrs. Beeson. It is. And with that, she hurried away.

Back at Greenhaven, Nickie went upstairs, passing some men who were polishing the floors with a roaring machine. Mrs. Beeson, she thought, seemed more fired up than ever, like an engine revved to a higher level. Nickie had the feeling something was going to happen.

In the nursery, Otis greeted her energetically. Oty-Oty-Otis! she cried. She rolled him over and scratched his pink tummy, and he paddled his feet and stretched his head out so she could scratch his throat, too. You are a darling, Otis, she said. She lifted him up onto the window seat, and she turned on the lamp. As the rain pounded down outside, she started in again on the stack of papers shed taken from the big trunk.

She found some letters written to Mommy and Daddy from a girl at summer camp in 1955, and an article cut from a newspapers social pages about an elegant birthday party held at Greenhaven in 1940. After setting aside still more bent postcards and ancient Christmas cards and faded photographs, she came upon a fragile old envelope with a strange-looking letter inside that she thought at first was just a page of crazy scribbling. But when she looked at it closely, she could see that it was writing after all. It was a sort ofdouble writing. The letter writer (someone named Elizabeth) had written on the page in the usual way and then had turned the paper and written rightacross what shed written before! The result looked totally unreadablelike two barbed-wire fences laid on top of each other. But she found that if she held the paper in a certain way, slightly tipped, the writing going one direction faded into the background, and the writing going the other direction became clear.

The letter was dated January 4, 1919. Most of it wasnt really worth the trouble it took to read. Elizabeth wrote about ordinary things: visitors whod arrived, a party, new clothes, a new horse. One bit was intriguing, though: I hope your dear mother is not so terribly sad as she was. I see as I write this that its been a year today since the fever took darling baby Frederick. Such a great sorrow! But time must have healed her a little by now.

Nickie imagined the mother, young and beautiful and wearing one of those long, slender dresses shed seen in the photographs, sitting in anguish at the bedside of her baby, not able to give him the right medicine because it hadnt been invented yet. It would be dreadful to watch your baby die. No wonder she was still sad a year later.

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