Time for Andrew (8 page)

I shivered. For the first time in my life, I knew what people meant when they said someone was walking on their grave. Little did Hannah know how truly close her brother had come to keeping Lucy company beneath the green grass.

Face solemn, Hannah brushed away a tuft of moss growing in the
L
on Lucy's stone. "You were only three or four when she died, so you don't really remember her, do you?"

I shook my head and Hannah said, "I was eight and she was ten. We both had diphtheria. We were so sick Mama thought she was going to lose us both, but Dr. Fulton saved me. He couldn't save Lucy though."

While I listened, a cloud floated past the sun and cast its shadow on the burial ground. Leaves stirred and rustled. A mourning dove called, repeating the same sad notes over and over again.

Hannah squeezed my hand. "I'll tell you a secret, Andrew. For a long time after Lucy died, I'd wake in the middle of the night and hear her breathing. I'd forget she was dead and talk to her the way I always had, whispering in the dark. She'd listen, she'd laugh. Sometimes I even felt her hand touch mine."

The mourning dove called again, and the cloud drifted away. In spite of the summer heat, I was cold. "Weren't you scared, Hannah?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no, not a bit. I was glad Lucy was near. It comforted me."

I helped Hannah pick a bunch of clover blossoms to lay on her sister's grave. When she had arranged them carefully, she said, "I fancy Lucy sees what I see and hears what I hear. As long as I live, she'll be alive too. I carry her in my heart, Andrew." She struck her chest. "Right here."

Suddenly embarrassed, Hannah leapt to her feet and ran across the grass to a grove of trees on the other side of the graveyard. Ducking under the branches, I found her kneeling in the green shade, clearing a space around her.

"If you want to play marbles, help me make a smooth place for the ring." She sounded firm, certain, in control of things again.

While we worked together to level the ground, I glanced at Hannah from time to time. Her face was calm now, but it pained me to remember the sadness I'd seen in her eyes when she spoke of Lucy's death. Thank goodness, I'd saved Andrew's life, not just for his sake but for hers too. First a sister, then a brother—how could Hannah have borne so much sorrow and loss?

"There." Hannah got to her feet and surveyed the cleared space. Picking up a stick, she drew a lopsided circle in the dirt. She scratched a cross in the middle and laid thirteen target marbles on it—one in the center and three on each crossbar.
Miggles
she called them.

Outside the circle, she drew two lines about a foot apart, took ten steps back, and drew another one. "Now," she said. "We'll lag to see who goes first."

I stared at Hannah, my face burning with embarrassment. "I don't remember how to do that," I mumbled.

She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. The first line she'd drawn was the lag line, she explained, and the one behind it was the back line. The players stood on the pitch line and aimed their marbles at the lag line. The one whose marble landed closest got to play first.

"Let me show you." Hannah eyed the line carefully and pitched her aggie underhanded. It rolled through the dust and came to a stop about half an inch from the lag line.

Hannah stepped aside. "You try," she said. "Be careful not to let your shooter roll past the back line. That's an automatic loss."

Eyeing Hannah's aggie, I threw mine and watched it roll way past the back line.

"Looks like I'm first." Hannah shot four miggles out of the ring before she missed. Sitting back on her heels, she said, "Your turn, Andrew."

I tried to shoot the way she had, but my aggie rolled feebly out of my hand. It didn't even come near a miggle.

"For goodness sake, you've truly forgotten everything I taught you, Andrew. Hold it like this between your thumb and index finger." Hannah bent my finger around the marble and steadied my knuckles on the dirt. "Now flick your thumb hard."

The aggie rolled a little farther, but Hannah wasn't satisfied. "Keep your knuckles on the ground when you shoot," she said, "and don't move your hand while you're shooting."

When I finally managed to shoot my aggie all the way across the ring, Hannah said, "Now let's play a real game. Remember, the first to knock seven miggles out of the ring wins."

While I arranged the marbles, Hannah sat on a tree root and pulled off her shoes and stockings. Wiggling her bare toes, she sighed. "Don't tell Mama. She says my feet will grow if I don't wear shoes, but I don't care if I end up wearing size thirteens. As for being unladylike—pshaw. These shoes pinch like the very dickens."

Pushing the hair back from her face, Hannah knuckled down and shot. Click—her aggie sent a cat's-eye spinning across the dirt and into the weeds.

She hit five and missed the sixth. "Drat," she muttered.

Holding my aggie clumsily, I tried to shoot the way Hannah had taught me, but it was hopeless. The miggles were scattered all over the place. I aimed at the closest, missed, and lost my turn.

"That's one of the advantages of going first," Hannah said. "You have better targets when the ring is full."

I sat back, waiting for her to shoot. Even in the shade it was steamy hot. Gnats circled our heads, humming in our ears, taking little bites.

"Try again, Andrew," Hannah said patiently.

For the rest of the long morning, we played. By the time we quit, my thumb hurt, my neck and shoulders ached, and my finger felt permanently crooked. It looked like I wasn't going to beat Andrew anytime soon.

Chucking me under the chin, Hannah laughed. "Goodness, don't look so glum. It's a game, Andrew, not a matter of life and death."

I turned away quickly and began gathering the marbles. The things the Tylers said in ignorance were downright scary.

Behind me, Hannah grabbed a branch and swung up into a tree. "Race you to the top, Andrew."

I'd never climbed a tree in my life, but I didn't dare admit
it. Sooner or later the Tylers were bound to think I was a complete lunatic. They still mentioned George Foster from time to time, though never deliberately in my hearing. The Fosters had sent George to the county asylum—what if Mr. Tyler decided to do the same with me?

I took a deep breath and followed Hannah up the tree, one limb at a time, higher and higher. Leaves brushed my face, the branches swayed, but I kept going. I wanted to please Hannah, I wanted to show her I could do what she did. If she told me to jump, I would. For her, I'd fly.

When Hannah had climbed as high as she could, she said, "Look, Andrew, you can see all the way to Riverview from here. There's the church steeple and the courthouse tower."

Feeling slightly queasy, I clung to a limb and gazed at barns and houses, fields and woods, cows and sheep, the river behind the house, railroad tracks shining silver in the sunlight. It was a nice view, but all I could think about was climbing down. We were up so high—how would we ever get back to earth without killing ourselves?

Suddenly, a loud popping and banging shattered the quiet. Almost hidden in a cloud of dust, a car roared along the road below us. Cattle lumbered to their feet, horses raised their heads and galloped away, a flock of chickens scattered in all directions.

Hannah gasped. "Oh, my Lord, it's John Larkin in his father's motorcar. If he catches me looking like this, he'll think I'm a common hoyden."

Her bare foot plunged toward me. The tree swayed violently, my head swam. Afraid to move, I clung to a branch.

"For heaven's sake, Andrew, hurry. He'll be here any moment!"

With Hannah pushing me, I slid from limb to limb, down,
down, faster and faster. By the time I hit the ground, my legs were shaking so hard I could barely stand.

Without so much as a thought for me, Hannah grabbed her shoes and ran across the lawn. Her feet were bare, her shirtwaist untucked, her skirt dusty. Twigs and leaves clung to her hair. As quick as she was, the Model T was quicker. Pursued by Buster, it rolled to a noisy stop under a tree.

Without pausing to say hello, Hannah darted past John, scurried up the steps, and vanished into the house. The door had no sooner closed behind her than it opened to let Theo out. Leaping from the porch, he flung himself at John and begged for a ride. Buster circled the car, barking and snapping at the tires.

The commotion brought Mrs. Tyler to the door. "Land sakes, Buster, hush!" When the dog didn't obey, she spotted me walking slowly toward the house. "Andrew, stop lally-gagging and do something with this animal."

Obediently, I put two fingers in my mouth and blew hard. The shrill sound got Buster's attention immediately. Tail wagging, he loped across the lawn toward me. Two feet away he skidded to a stop, obviously as surprised as I was. Curling his lip, he growled softly and then slunk off toward the woods, as disappointed as a dog can be.

Too astonished to move, I watched Buster disappear into the trees. No matter how hard I'd tried, I'd never been able to make a noise like that. A pitiful little hiss of air was all I'd ever managed to produce. Yet just now, without even thinking about it, I'd blasted the dog with a whistle loud enough to wake the dead.

The idea made me shiver. Scared of my own thoughts, I turned toward Mrs. Tyler. At that moment, the world around me quivered as if I were looking at it through heat
waves. The Model T vanished, the Tylers disappeared. Weeds and vines spread across the lawn. Trees grew taller. The house aged, its roof sagged, shutters hung loose, ivy covered the bricks. Andrew faced me, his eyes huge, his skin pale. Like twin statues we stared at each other, neither moving nor speaking.

I whispered his name, but when I stepped toward him, he backed away, stumbling in his haste to escape. A sound like the buzzing of locusts filled my ears. "Wait," I cried, "come back."

The next thing I knew I was sprawled on the grass and a woman was bending over me. "Andrew, Andrew, what ails you?" She put an arm around my waist and helped me to my feet. "I heard you call out. Then I saw you stagger and fall."

I tried to focus my eyes. My head ached, I was still dizzy, but the locusts were quiet. The world was steady. Andrew had disappeared.

"Should I send John to fetch Dr. Fulton?"

I shook my head, breathed deeply, tried to smile. "It was the heat, Mama. I'm all right now. Don't worry."

Keeping one arm around me, she said, "John has offered to take us on an outing in his father's motorcar, but perhaps you and I should stay home...."

From her bedroom window, Hannah called, "For pity's sake, Mama, we'll never hear the end of it if you don't let Andrew come with us."

"Please, Mama. I'm fine, honest I am."

Mama sighed and reluctantly gave her permission. "But you must sit quietly. It's not wise to overexcite yourself."

I started to run toward the car, but Mama stopped me. "Wash your hands and face first, and comb your hair." As
I pulled away, she called after me, "Don't forget your neck—it's positively gray with dirt."

Alone in the bathroom, I stared into the mirror over the sink. Who was I looking at? Andrew or Drew? The boy on the lawn had been wearing my jeans, my T-shirt, my running shoes. I was wearing his clothes. I'd whistled for his dog the way he would have. I'd called his mother "Mama" as naturally as I'd once called my mother "Mom." If I stayed here long enough, would I sink down into Andrew's life and forget I'd ever been anyone else?

No, no, no. Splashing cold water on my face, I reminded myself I was just acting a part. When I won the marble game, the curtain would go down on the last act. I'd be Drew again and Andrew would be Andrew—for keeps. Till then, I'd call Mrs. Tyler "Mama" and Mr. Tyler "Papa," I'd think of Hannah and Theo as my brother and sister, I'd whistle for Buster, I'd do whatever my role demanded.

Outside, a horn blew and Theo yelled, "Andrew, hurry up or we'll leave without you!"

Yes—I'd even ride in a genuine Model T.

From her seat beside John, Hannah saw me running toward the car. "It's about time, Andrew. We've been sitting here perishing of heat."

Hannah didn't look like she was perishing of anything. She'd changed her clothes and piled her hair on top of her head. Her face and hands were clean. No one would have guessed she'd spent the morning playing marbles.

Mama made room for me in the backseat, and I squeezed in beside her.

"Now don't go too fast, John," Mama said. "And be careful of the curve at the bottom of the hill. Sometimes Mr. Pettengill's cattle get out and block the road."

"Yes, ma'am." John cranked up the engine. The car shook and trembled and made a series of loud popping noises before it began to roll down the driveway, picking up speed as it went.

"Hooray!" shouted Theo. "Hooray!"

"Heavens to Betsy," Mama cried, "slow down, John. Do you want to kill us?"

Leaning over the seat, I estimated we were going all of ten or fifteen miles per hour.

"It's a good thing there aren't more motorcars on the road," Mama said. "If everyone drove like you, we'd never make it to town in one piece."

Hannah gave her mother an agonized look. "Mama," she whispered, "John knows how to drive."

Glancing over his shoulder, John smiled at Mama. "I was in St. Louis last week," he said. "I must have seen twenty or thirty cars in less than an hour. Uncle Hiram says it's all nonsense—in a couple of years, people will come to their senses and go back to a good old reliable horse and carriage. But I believe cars are here to stay."

Mama sighed and shook her head. "You'll never see my Henry driving one," she said. "He agrees with your uncle. It's a silly fad."

"How about you, Mama?" Theo bounced on the seat. "Wouldn't you like to have a motorcar?"

"Certainly not," Mama said firmly.

In Riverview, we stopped at Larkin's Drugstore for a cold drink. Leaving the rest of us to scramble out unaided, John offered Hannah his hand. Although I'd just seen her leap out of a tree as fearless as a cat, she let him help her.

At the soda fountain, Hannah took a seat beside John. In her white dress, she was as prim and proper as any lady you ever saw. Quite frankly, I liked her better the other way.