Finding Fortune (23 page)

“So your dad's boat was actually called
Little Miss Pearl
?”

“That's right, but everybody called her
Pearl
for short.” She squirmed on her pillows, trying to find a comfortable spot. “By the time I discovered the mistake, Garrett had already hauled the boat into the gym. I was fit to be tied. She's older than me, that boat. Spent her whole life as
Pearl
until one bad paint job turned her into the silly
Little Miss
. I haven't gotten round to making them fix it yet, but it's on my to-do list.”

Hildy let out a hoarse laugh and patted at her head. “What's wrong, honey? Why are you looking at me so funny? Is my hair crooked again?”

“Hildy, did Tucker ever tell you what he and I were doing that day when you fell? Hugh was with us too.”

“No,” she said, looking startled. “But I was wondering where the three of you ran off to so fast.”

“We went to look at the mural,” I said. “Mr. Bonnycastle's mural. We thought there might be a clue about where to find the pearls so we took the ladder out to the landing so we could climb up and see.”

“The mural,” Hildy repeated in awe. She pressed her hand to her cheek. “Of course, Bonny painted it! I should have thought of studying that old painting a long time ago.” Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Did you find anything?”

“We thought so … at first.” I moved to the edge of her bed and carefully lowered myself down, making sure not to jostle the mattress. “Did you ever notice those boats in the painting?”

“Boats?” Hildy blinked. “There're two of them, right? I guess I never paid them much attention.”

“Well, the one closest to the shore has a name written on its side. One word. Guess what it is?” I gave the photograph a little shake.

“Pearl!”
Hildy cried. She had both hands pressed to her cheeks now, remembering. “Sometimes Pop let Tom take
Pearl
out to cruise the river on Sundays, and Bonny would go along. It was one of their favorite things to do together.”

“But, Hildy—” I said. I needed to stop her before she got too excited. “We already searched your dad's boat. And I'm sorry, but the box … it's not there.”

Hildy's eyes were blazing as she pushed herself up from the pillows. “Of course it is,” she said. “You just didn't know where to look.” Then all at once she was grabbing at her covers and throwing them aside. “Get me that wheelchair, Ren.”

“Wait, Hildy! What are you doing?” I set the photo on the table and stood up, holding my hands out in a steadying motion. “Let me get Mine.” I started backing away and then dashed for the curtains.

I only had to call Mine's name once before her frightened face appeared in the serving window. “You've got to come quick!” I yelled. “Hildy's trying to get up and I'm not sure if I can stop her.”

Mine couldn't stop her either. “The gym?” she exclaimed, when she found out where Hildy wanted to go. “You've got to be kidding me, right? Don't get me wrong, Hildy, I think you've come a long way since the hospital, but you're not ready to get back to the museum yet.”

The whole time Mine had been arguing, Hildy had been slowly but surely edging her tiny feet to the floor. She was wearing red socks and one ankle was wrapped tightly in an Ace bandage. With a loud sigh, she stopped and glared at us over the top of her glasses. “Listen, you two,” she said. “If you don't bring me that wheelchair this minute, I'm going to crawl to the gym. Now which is it going to be?”

 

TWENTY-NINE

AT FIRST MINE DIDN'T TRY
to ask any more questions about Hildy's mission. She was too preoccupied with transferring Hildy safely from her bed to her wheelchair and down the new ramp off the stage. Then halfway across the cafetorium, we spotted Hugh and Tucker in the kitchen.

“What are you guys up to?” Mine called.

Hugh came to the window, wiping his drippy chin on his arm. “We needed water,” he said. “It's really hot out there. Hey, Hildy,” he said, “can I have a ride on your wheelchair? Where are you guys going?”

“We're going to the gym,” Hildy barked over her shoulder as Mine kept pushing her toward the hallway. “No wheelchair rides, but you better come along. I'm going to need somebody about your size.”

Mine chuckled drily. “Come on, Hildy.” She looked over at me. “Ren? The suspense is killing me. What's going on?”

I opened my mouth, trying to figure out where to start. As far as I knew, Hugh hadn't told his mother a thing about the pearls. But before I could answer, Hugh came running up behind us in the hall. “You need somebody my size?” he asked as he trotted along beside Hildy's wheelchair. “How come?”

Then I heard a sloshing noise, and when I looked back Tucker was there too with Garrett's water jug swinging at his side. “What's up?” he panted, nudging my arm.

“Hush, everybody,” Hildy ordered, as Mine rolled her through the foyer. “That's enough questions. I've been waiting most of my life to figure this out. If you're lucky, you've only got to wait about five more minutes.”

We all fell quiet, but when we trailed through the doors to the gym and Hildy told Mine to steer her over to the boat, Tucker couldn't keep silent anymore. “I thought so!” he burst out. “This is about the pearls, isn't it?” He whipped around to face me. “Ren, didn't you tell her we already looked? Give it up, will you?”

I shrugged in desperation. “I did tell her, Tucker! I—”

“Hold your horses now, Tucker.” Hildy signaled for Mine to turn her wheelchair around. “I'm grateful to Ren for being so persistent. I should have thought of looking at the mural ages ago, but I didn't. And it never occurred to me to look on Pop's boat either. Not until Ren kicked this rusty brain of mine into gear and I remembered the hiding place.”

“Hiding place?” Tucker squinted in confusion. “What hiding place?”

Hildy crossed her arms over her bathrobe. “Well, maybe I could show you if you'd stop interrupting for a half second.” She was teasing, but not really. Tucker clamped his mouth shut.

“Go on, Hugh,” Hildy said once we were finally gathered at the boat. “Climb up.”

Hugh hopped up on the platform and practically vaulted himself inside. Then he stood grinning down at us, bouncing on his toes and waiting for more instructions.

“See that bench in the stern?” Hildy squawked up at Hugh. I felt my face fall.
The bench.
Hugh gave me a worried look, but he didn't say anything. He went to the opposite end of the boat like he was told and we all followed. Mine rolled Hildy right up to the stern.

“There's a lid on the bench,” Hildy called. “Open it.”

I glanced back at Tucker. Now he was the one folding his arms. “I already looked in there,” he said under his breath.

“Shhh,” I scolded.

The hinges of the bench let out their rusty squeak.

“Now climb in and kneel down,” Hildy told Hugh.

I gripped the wooden side of the boat, standing on my tiptoes and craning my neck to see, but I wasn't quite tall enough to get a good view. Hugh's head disappeared and then he popped up again. “Did you know it smells like fish in here, Hildy?”

“Of course it does.” Hildy laughed. “That's one thing the new paint job couldn't get rid of. Now, Hugh,” she called. “Once you're down in there, look toward the stern where the motor would be. You see that little wall at the back of the bench?”

There was no answer. I couldn't stand it anymore. “Hugh?” I yelled. “Do you see the wall at the back of the bench?”

Hugh's muffled voice came floating out from under the lid. “Yeah?”

Tucker pressed in beside me, and now Mine was standing on her tiptoes too.

We all turned to Hildy. She clutched the arms of her wheelchair. “Tell him there's a tiny notch at the top of that wall. He needs to get hold of the notch and pull. There're spring hinges on the other side.” I hoisted myself over the side of the boat and then crouched next to the bench, repeating Hildy's instructions.

“There's no notch,” Hugh wailed up at me. When he poked his head out this time, his hair was damp with sweat and his cheeks were flushed. “What is a notch, anyway?”

“Seriously, Hildy,” Mine said with the first hint of impatience in her voice. “What exactly is Hugh supposed to be looking for?”

“Pop's secret compartment,” Hildy cried, thumping her fist on the arm of her wheelchair. My pulse quickened.
So there was a secret compartment after all.

“I don't mean to be rude here,” Mine said, “but what would an old workboat like this be doing with a secret compartment inside?”

“Pop made it,” Hildy told her, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When the shells around Fortune ran out, he had to go looking for shell beds farther away. Sometimes he'd be gone for days, working at camps full of strangers up and down the Mississippi. Pop had a mortal fear of getting robbed. If he made a few dollars or found a pearl or two, he wanted a safe place to stash them. After all that work, he wasn't about to come home empty-handed.”

Hugh had disappeared inside the bench again while Hildy had been talking. Now she folded her hands in her lap. “He'll find it,” she said, nodding to herself. “It's there.”

She seemed so sure. But all the same, when I heard Hugh's little whoop of delight and he crawled from the bowel of the boat holding a square package wrapped in waxy brown cloth and string, I could barely believe it. Hugh seemed just as astonished. No one said a word as I handed the package down to Tucker, who hurried over to place it in his grandmother's outstretched hands.

When she fumbled with the string, Tucker pulled out his pocketknife to help. Then we all crowded around Hildy's wheelchair as she pulled away the wrapping with shaking hands and opened the lid of the small pine box underneath.

Hugh was the first one to speak. “They're glowing,” he whispered. He was right. The pearls glowed, and Hildy's face shone with tears. She reached into the shimmering pile and pulled out the largest. It was almost perfectly round and the color was even prettier than I had imagined—a deep dusky pink—the color of sunsets.

I heard Mine let out a little gasp beside me. “No way,” she marveled. “Did that come out of the Mississippi?”

“Indeed it did,” Hildy said as she lifted the Blushing Beauty into the light. It didn't look like anything you'd expect to find on the bottom of the Mississippi, or the floor of a barroom, or the bottom of an old wooden boat. “At last,” Hildy murmured. “My brother, Tom, can rest in peace.”

 

THIRTY

MOM LET ME MISS CHURCH
the next morning so I could ride out to the school early. I wanted to beat the heat and be there before all the excitement started. As soon as Mayor Joy had laid eyes on Hildy's pearls and heard the story of how they were lost and found again, he called his friend and fellow-mayor over in Bellefield to tell him the amazing tale. And within hours, two newspaper reporters and a television crew had gathered on the steps of the school, hoping to get the scoop on the Blushing Beauty and the unusual new tourist attraction that was being created in the forgotten town of Fortune.

As Wayne grazed nearby, Mayor Joy had politely declined to comment “at the present time.” But he invited the reporters to return the next day when Hildy Baxter, the founder of the Fortune Pearl Button Museum, and other local officials would be taking questions at an afternoon press conference.

Apparently Hildy wasn't going to be selling her treasure anytime soon. “Absolutely not,” the mayor of Bellefield had advised her. “With those pearls on display, you'll have more publicity and funding for the museum than you'll know what to do with.”

But for now the school was still quiet. It stood silent and imposing in the soft morning light, as if it was gathering strength for the changes that were coming. Once I parked my bike, I ran through the dew-covered grass, breathing a grateful sigh when I rounded the corner and looked out at the labyrinth. No one was there. I'd have it all to myself.

I moved slowly to the entrance—about where home plate used to be—and looked out over the paths lined with knee-high walls of shells. Last night when I finally searched the word on the Internet, I had learned that labyrinth-walking was supposed to make you feel peaceful. The Labyrinth Society Web site even listed something called the “365 Day Club,” where members pledge to walk through a labyrinth every day for one year. “Daily walkers report the labyrinth has become a part of their being,” the site said, “bringing a sense of peace to all aspects of their lives.” It seemed impossible, even kind of silly, but at the same time I was suddenly desperate to give it a try. These days my mind never stopped swimming with questions—about Mom and Dad, Hildy and the museum, Tucker, junior high …

If a walk through some shells could ease my worries a little, why not? I squared my shoulders, blew out a big breath of air, and stepped onto the path.

To be honest, I felt embarrassed at first, strolling round and round with my hands clasped behind my back like stiff Mr. Vanderveer from the historical society. I scanned the windows of the school. What if someone was watching? Tucker was probably waiting for me. I had told him I'd be there early so I could help with setting up the display case for the pearls before the press conference.

Stop it,
I told myself. According to the Web, I was supposed to keep my mind quiet as I walked and concentrate on rhythmic, gentle breathing.
Feel the sun and breeze on your skin,
one site said.
The soil under your feet
.

There actually was a little breeze. I could hear the corn rustling and the throaty whistle of a red-winged blackbird off near Mayor Joy's place. I tried forcing my eyes to stay on the path, but they kept straying to the little walls of shells on both sides and all those thousands of button holes, made by hundreds of button-cutters over the years.