Wolf Hollow (20 page)

Then he turned and left the barn, walked out across the back pasture, and disappeared into the woods.

The story might have ended there.

But Aunt Lily had something to say about what happened next.

“Why haven't you called the police, John?” she barked when she arrived home from the post office and heard what the boys had found in the loft. “Or at least the constable. That madman could still be around here, and I for one won't sleep until he's caught.”

My father was sitting in the chair by the stove, doing nothing, while my grandmother and I set the table.

“Lily, he left the camera for us to find. It's our camera. He's long gone.”

“And the hat?”

To which he had no answer.

“And have you been up to search the loft properly?”

My father shook his head.

“John! He could still be in that loft, hiding, or gone away just today after the boys were up there.”

My grandmother, who had thus far stayed on the edges of things, finally said, “John, much as we have always liked Toby, I think Lily has a point.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Aunt Lily said. “I'm sure Sarah feels the same way.”

My mother, busy at the stove, did not comment.

Aunt Lily waited, watching my father, but he remained in his chair, thoughtful.

“Well, if you won't do it, then I will,” she finally said.

When I started to object, my father held up his hand. “Let it be, Annabelle.”

We heard her from the other room, telling Mrs. Gribble to put the call through, speaking with someone in the barracks in Pittsburgh, telling them to hurry up. And to bring the hounds.

I hadn't thought of hounds looking for Toby. I'd only thought of them hunting for Betty.

My father and I shared a look. In it, I could see that he realized what I did: that there were fresh trails all over the place. Not just around the well in Cobb Hollow. Not just in our barn. But in our truck. And straight into this kitchen, to that chair right there.

When Aunt Lily returned from her call, she said, “Officer Coleman will be here tonight. More men in the morning, if he says so.” She looked sated.

“Then you can feed them, Lily,” my mother snapped. “And clean up after them.”

“Which I would be happy to do if I didn't have a job of my own,” Aunt Lily said, sitting down at her place. “Sarah, I would think you'd be the one most concerned with the welfare of your children. More worried than any of us.”

My mother pulled a roast out of the oven and put it down too hard on top of the stove.

“I'm plenty worried,” she said. “Don't imagine for a minute that I'm not.”

The boys had arrived at the prospect of imminent supper and talk of the police coming soon.

“Are they going to kill Toby?” James asked. He sounded afraid, and I was glad for that.

“Oh, hush now,” Aunt Lily said, flapping her hand impatiently. “Nobody said anything about killing.”

“Maybe not,” my mother said. “But men with guns are coming after a man with guns. What do you think is going to happen?”

“They'll catch him!” Aunt Lily exclaimed, as if she were talking to a cluster of idiots. “For pity's sake, this isn't Germany. Nobody's going to shoot anybody unless they have to.”

My grandfather came in from the front porch where he often sat the evenings, watching the light go. “What's all this about Germans and shooting people?” he said as he took his place at the head of the table.

“Nothing, Father,” Aunt Lily said. “Just foolishness. Officer Coleman is coming back to make sure Toby's not hiding out around here. That's all.”

“Because the boys found his hat in the barn?”

Aunt Lily nodded.

“Sounds a little thin to me,” he said. “But I'm not the one who lost an eye. And I'm not the one who was down that well.”

“This isn't fair,” I muttered, but I knew I had nothing more to say about any of it.

“I heard that Jordan stayed to help fix the barn,” Aunt Lily said, a little of that odd music in her voice. “But not for supper?”

It amazed me that we'd forgotten about that part of things. That there had ever been a Jordan, if only for a while.

“He had to get back,” my father said. “But he said to tell you good-bye.”

Aunt Lily smiled like a girl.

“He seemed like a very nice man,” she said.

“He was,” I said, a little too loudly.

Everyone looked at me.

“What? He was a nice man.” I busied myself with a loose button on my cuff.

“So where is the hat?” Aunt Lily asked.

Silence.

“What hat?” my father said, his Adam's apple working.

She looked from my father, to me, to my brothers.

Henry shrugged. “We gave it to Daddy.”

“Oh, that hat,” my father said. “I left it out in the barn. It isn't the cleanest hat in the world.”

“I should think not,” Aunt Lily said.

“All right, enough,” my mother said. “It's time for supper. And I don't want to hear one more word about Toby or his hat or troopers or bloodhounds or anything else. Do you hear me?”

We did.

We all tucked up to the table.

Aunt Lily said grace.

The food was good and I ate it, though I didn't feel any less hollow as a result.

“What's the news about Betty?” Aunt Lily asked.

“She's still not talking much,” my mother said. “The gangrene wasn't so bad that she had to lose the toe, but she's a mess. That infection in her shoulder isn't getting any better, in fact they fear it's worse, and she has a pretty high fever, so they're keeping her in the hospital.” My mother had been nurse to all of us through so many mishaps and sicknesses that not much fazed her, but I had to put down my fork.

“I wish we'd got to her sooner,” I said.

My mother knew how I felt about Betty. “You're a good girl, Annabelle.”

“What about me?” James said.

“You're a good girl, too,” my father said.

To which James said, “Aw, Daddy,” and made a face.

I should have laughed, as Henry did. But I couldn't.

After supper was over and the dishes done, I went out and sat on the back steps in a pool of porch light. No mosquitoes hunting me at this time of year, or bats hunting them. Nothing to rush me back inside, except the thought of Officer Coleman returning.

I didn't want to see him.

I didn't want to talk to him about Toby or Betty or anything else.

I hated the thought of my parents having to sit at our kitchen table and lie to a policeman.

And I certainly didn't want to watch him search the barn.

But thinking about that reminded me of all the things I'd taken out there.

And what might be up in the hayloft still.

I ticked them off on my fingers.

My father had retrieved the Mason jars and the bedding, my mother's scissors, and the towel and soap and such. He'd buried Toby's old clothes in the burn barrel, under a month of ashes.

Toby had left the camera with us.

Given back my grandfather's coat and gloves.

Taken his guns.

But I was forgetting something. A stray spoon? A jam jar?

And then I remembered.

Treasure Island
was still out in the barn.

If they found it, I could say I'd been reading it myself in the loft. Better, though, if they never found it at all.

I knew my way well enough without a lantern or a flashlight, and I was getting pretty good at running around in the dark, so I took off without a second thought.

The dogs in the woodshed woofed at me but didn't bother to leave their beds. The hens were all sleeping soundly in their nests as I hurried past. A leaf or two fell through the dark air, but I was not spooked. Nor was I slowed by the lack of moon.

“Hey, Bill,” I said as I slipped into the barn through the stable gate. “Hey, Dinah.”

I mooed quietly at the cows as I slipped by, just to let them know it was me, and then flew up the stairs and onto the threshing floor.

And paused.

I opened my mouth so I could hear better.

Something.

The barn creaked the way old barns do.

Something else.

A mouse scritched through the hay litter somewhere close by.

“Hello?” I whisper-called.

A stem of hay drifted down from above.

In the loft, a shape.

“Toby? Is that you?”

I hoped it was. I hoped it wasn't. But when he said my name I was more relieved than anything.

“Good grief, Toby, what are you doing back here?” I scrambled up the ladder into the loft and shepherded him away from the edge. “You scared me half to death. Are you back for good? Are you going to stay after all?”

He was wearing his coat and hat and, especially in the darkness, once again looked like something out of a tall tale.

“Not for good,” he said. “Just for a minute.”

“Just for a minute?” I was half baffled, half disappointed, as I seemed to be nearly all the time now. If he had come back, why was he leaving again? “Did you forget something?”

He nodded. “I did,” he said.

“What? Your knife?” I remembered him handing it to my father for safekeeping before he went down the well.

“No. I have my knife.”

“Do you want the camera? Toby, it's your camera. I can get it for you, quick, before the trooper gets here.”

At which he drew himself up. “You called the police?”

“Of course not,” I said, and I could hear the hurt in my own voice. “Do you think I would do that?”

He shook his head.

“My aunt Lily did when my blabbermouth brothers told her what they'd found.”

Toby sat down on a hay bale and took off his hat.

“So they're coming.” It wasn't a question.

“Just the trooper who was here before. But, Toby, you have to become Jordan again or you have to get out of here. He's coming to search the barn before he decides whether to look harder tomorrow, with more men. And bloodhounds.”

Toby rubbed his bad hand. “And bloodhounds.” He twisted a crick out of his neck.

I sighed. “I guess
they'd
know you, no matter what your name is.”

“They would,” he said. “They can track through water. Flood, even. Follow someone who's being carried.”

“I didn't know that. And I wish they couldn't, though I don't think I could carry you either way. But if they're coming at all, they won't be here until morning, so you've still got time to get out of here. Find someone to give you a ride until you're far away. I can fetch my grandpap's coat again. And his gloves. Someone will give you a ride, I know they will.”

Toby held up both hands. “Annabelle, stop.”

I stopped.

He dropped his hands into his lap.

And I realized that he had never answered my question.

“If it wasn't for your knife,” I said, “what did you come back for?”

I wished I could see his face better in the dark.

“When I left here, I meant to go straight west,” he said. “And I started that way, for a mile or two. But it was all too quick.”