The Way Home (2 page)

Drawing a quivery breath, Meg broke the quiet. “That was nice. Mary will be okay now.”

Her simple acceptance caused a pain in Ty’s chest that he did his best to ignore. It was just a stupid doll, he reminded himself briskly. And Meg was nothing but a silly baby. But he didn’t pull his hand from hers.

Drawing her away from the tiny grave, he picked up the fishing pole and lunch sack he’d set down. Ducking out from under the willow’s branches, he narrowed his eyes against the bright sunlight. He was surprised to find that so little time had passed. He’d expected to find the day nearly over. But the sun was still high in the sky and the creek still rushed merrily over its rocky bed. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Aware that someone might be able to see them now, he eased his hand from Meg’s.

Glancing down at her, she seemed even smaller and more fragile than he’d thought at first. The tearstains that marked her face had been joined by a fresh streak of dirt. Her feet were bare and twice as dirty as the rest of her. He found himself wondering if she even owned a pair of shoes, an incredible thought.

Her dress was old and worn, a hand-me-down from her sister, he guessed. It was nothing like the frilly dresses he’d seen other little girls wearing. The neckline was too big, sliding down to expose her collarbone. And the sailor collar that had should have been crisp white was grayed and limp. A tear near the hem had been mended with neat stitches.

She looked forlorn, like an orphan in a storybook he’d had when he was little. But she wasn’t an orphan, he reminded himself firmly. She had a home and she could just go there. She’d already spoiled enough of his day with her silly doll.

She reached to brush some bits of grass from the hem of her rag-taggle dress and the bruises on her arms caught his eye.

“You want to watch me fish?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, those wide blue eyes considering, as if she were weighing the sincerity of his offer. Satisfied by what she saw, she smiled at him. The expression transformed her thin little face into something almost pretty.

“Yes, please,” she said simply.

Her presence did not spoil his fishing as he’d thought it might. She didn’t chatter like his older sister Louise would have. And she didn’t look bored, like Jack always did. Jack was his best friend but he didn’t like fishing. It was, as far as Ty was concerned, Jack’s only real flaw.

Meg sat quietly next to him, sometimes braiding strands of grass together into tiny wreaths, sometimes just watching the water rush by.

In an odd way, her quiet companionship reminded Ty of his older brother. It had been Dickey who’d taught him to fish. He’d been the best fishing pal a boy could hope to have. It had been four years since Dickey was killed in the Great War, fighting in the trenches in France. Ty still missed him. He blinked quickly, ashamed of the tears that stung at the back of his eyes. He pushed aside the memories of the big brother who’d never come home and pulled his line out of the water, checking the hook with fierce concentration.

When his stomach announced that it was time for lunch, Ty propped his fishing pole between a pair of rocks and opened up the sack lunch Daisy had packed for him. Daisy did all the cooking and most of the cleaning in the McKendrick household. She had skin the color of a Hershey bar and made the best apple turnovers in the whole state.

He took out a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. There was also a fat dill pickle — Daisy’s own recipe — and, wrapped in a piece of clean toweling, a big wedge of cheese. Daisy understood just how hungry a boy could get after a morning spent with a fishing pole. The paper crackled as he unwrapped the sandwich — thick slices of bread, piled high with slices of last night’s roast beef.

Ty’s stomach rumbled hungrily but he hesitated, glancing at Meg. She was looking at the sandwich, but when she felt his eyes on her, she looked away, plucking at a stalk of grass as if the food held no interest for her.

“You hungry?”

Her eyes skittered back to the food and then lifted to his. She nodded slowly.

“Well, you can’t eat with a face as dirty as that,” he told her. Feeling very adult, he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket, shaking the bits of lint from it. Taking it to the creek, he knelt and dipped it in the cold water. He handed the wet cloth to Meg and she carefully scrubbed her face, washing away the dirt and tearstains. When she lowered the handkerchief, Ty studied her face carefully before nodding.

“You’ll do,” he said, repeating the phrase his mother always used when pronouncing him ready to sit down for a meal. After draping the wet hanky over a convenient rock, he settled himself next to Meg and handed her half the sandwich. She bit into it hungrily.

He split the contents of the sack with scrupulous honesty, except for the dill pickle, which made Meg wrinkle her nose. Breaking the turnover in half caused him a pang of real regret, but she took her portion from him with the proper reverence. He consoled himself with the thought that at least she appreciated it. Besides, if he’d committed a sin by reading a prayer over her doll, maybe he was making up for it by sharing his lunch.

Meg dozed off after the meal, curled on her side in the soft grass, one hand tucked under her cheek. Since his fishing pole didn’t require constant attention, Ty found himself watching her. He didn’t have much experience with little girls. His sister was older than he was by almost four years. He tried to imagine Louise, at any age, content to sit quietly and watch someone fish. The image simply wouldn’t come clear. Even when she read those dumb tabloids of hers, she shrieked at something on every other page.

The memory made him sneer. All in all, he had to admit that Meg Harper wasn’t bad company — for a girl anyway.

The afternoon drifted by. Ty didn’t catch a fish but it didn’t seem to matter much. He’d forgotten all about the feeling of anticipation that had seemed so strong this morning. It was just another lazy summer afternoon.

Meg was so quiet, it was almost possible to forget she was there at all. When she woke, she played quietly, picking a bouquet of dandelions and arranging them with all the care his mother would have shown for her finest roses. Sometimes she hummed to herself, wordless little tunes.

It was late afternoon when Ty heaved a sigh and lifted his line out of the stream. He looked at the water with regret. He was sure that there was a big old trout just eyein‘ his line, thinking about biting. But he’d promised his mother he’d be home early. The whole family was going to the picture show. Ty liked picture shows well enough, but it seemed a waste to have to go home just when the fish were sure to start biting.

Still, there was no help for it. He stood up, dusting off the seat of his trousers. Meg stood up too, saying nothing, just watching him with those big blue eyes.

“I got to go,” Ty told her. “Can you get home by yourself okay?”

She nodded, her expression solemn as she watched him stuff the crumpled lunch sack in his pocket, where it made a lump.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back out to the road.”

She hesitated for a moment before falling into step with him. Ty didn’t cut across Pettygrove’s field this time, not wanting to set a bad example. After all, it was one thing for him to do it. He was a boy and could run pretty fast if old man Pettygrove showed up with his shotgun. But Meg was hardly more than a baby and it wouldn’t be right to encourage her to do things she shouldn’t.

The feeling of adult responsibility helped to make up for the annoyance of taking twice as long to get back to the road. He scrambled up the bank onto the gravel surface, turning to give Meg a hand up.

From here, their ways separated. Meg’s home lay south, on the far side of town. Ty’s family lived a little way outside of town on what was known locally as the Hill.

He squinted in the direction she’d go. There were some thunderheads building up to the west of town, promising rain before too long. The breeze held a cool edge to it. “If you want, I could walk you home. You bein‘ little and all.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Ty was relieved by her refusal. A gentleman always had to look out for women and children, his dad said, and he’d have done his duty, but he knew he’d have taken an awful ribbing if anybody saw him walking with a girl, even if she was just a baby.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll be on my way. You get on home now. Looks like it’s goin‘ to rain.”

She nodded but didn’t move. Ty found himself strangely reluctant to leave her. She was so little and there was something fragile about her, as if a strong wind might just blow her over.

“Well, good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

He hesitated but she didn’t say anything more, only watched him with those solemn blue eyes. Feeling awkward, Ty turned and started down the road toward home. It seemed to him that he could feel her eyes on him every step of the way, but he didn’t turn until he reached a bend in the road.

Turning back, he saw his guess had been right. Meg was standing just where he’d left her. Distance had foreshortened her figure, making her look even smaller and more vulnerable. He lifted his hand, waiting until he saw her wave in return before resolutely turning back to the road.

It wasn’t his problem if she wanted to stand there until dark. He’d done more than a body had any right to expect.

Meg watched Tyler McKendrick go out of sight before moving from the spot where he’d left her. She hurried down the road, ignoring the sharp bits of gravel that dug into the bottoms of her feet. The only pair of shoes she owned were too small, and they pinched her toes something fierce. Her soles were toughened from walking barefoot.

Leaving the road, she wiggled under the fence that bordered Pettygrove’s field and cut across the sweet green grass to the other side. After slipping under the second fence, she ran to where Ty had been fishing.

The handkerchief he’d dampened so she could wash her face still lay draped over the rock where he’d put it to dry. Meg picked it up, her brows coming together. Maybe she should have said something. Maybe he’d want the handkerchief back. Her small fingers tightened over it. Surely he wouldn’t miss one handkerchief. Didn’t Patsy always say that folks that lived on the Hill was all rich as sin?

Feeling guilty, she folded the square of linen hastily and thrust it into the pocket of her dress. If n he wanted the handkerchief back, she’d give it to him. But maybe he wouldn’t miss it and then she’d have something to keep — a keepsake, Mama would call it, though Meg knew she wouldn’t tell her mother about today.

Casting a last glance toward the willow tree where her doll was buried, she ran back to the fence, slipping under it and hurrying across the field. If she didn’t get home lickety-split, she might be late for supper and then Daddy’d be mad again.

She was breathless by the time she reached the road but she didn’t slow down, her short legs pumping as she ran. She’d lost Mary and that still hurt, but she’d never in all her nearly five years spent such a wonderful day. And if she never saw Tyler McKendrick again, she’d have the hanky to remind her.

CHAPTER 2

SIX YEARS LATER

Ty caught the white gleam of Jack’s smile beneath the visor that protected his eyes. Though they flew almost wingtip to wingtip, the solid roar of the engines made communication possible only via hand signals. Jack pointed down and then lifted his thumb in a good-luck sign. Ty returned the gesture before angling the Curtiss Jenny downward and away from Jack’s plane.

Below he could see the fairgoers, hardly bigger than ants at first, gradually increasing in size as he descended toward them. He waited until the last possible moment before rolling the Jenny over and finishing his descent flying upside down. Ffeeling the blood rush to his head, Ty sent the plane roaring along the edge of the field upside down and barely ten feet off the ground. Seeing the blur of green that marked the edge of the field, he pulled the plane up, skimming the tops of the trees before righting the plane. Though he couldn’t see it, he knew Jack would be right behind him, repeating the maneuver like a winged shadow.

Ascending into the pale-blue sky, Ty felt the same rush of exhilaration he did every time he flew. There was no other feeling like it. It was as close to heaven as a man could possibly get. Laughing with the sheer joy of it, he pulled the Jenny’s nose up in a loop before heading for the ground again, this time to land in a more decorous fashion.

Standing on the ground, Meg Harper craned her neck to watch the two planes in the air. Everyone around her was doing the same, all eyes glued to the airplanes as they looped above, first one and then the other inscribing a graceful circle against the cloudless blue of the sky. It was only when the first plane started to land that people began talking again.

The crowd drifted toward the field where the planes were now touching down. They looked like big, oddly graceful birds, Meg thought as she allowed herself to be swept forward. She heard some people mentioning Charles Lindbergh. Hadn’t he flown over Regret just a few short months ago? Daniel Peterman had painted the town’s name on the roof of his barn in big white letters so the famous flyer would know that Regret, Iowa, appreciated what he’d done and welcomed him.

Meg knew what Lindbergh had done, of course. No one had talked about much else for days last spring. She guessed that flying all the way across the Atlantic alone must be a pretty impressive thing to do, judging by the way people talked about it. But at age ten, she found it hard to imagine anything more impressive than what she’d just seen.