Ghost Cave (6 page)

They set out early the next morning. It was another sunny day. Marc itched to be on his bike, heading for the cave. Then he felt guilty for the thought. Mama was going to be happy to see them before Sunday. Bluedog and Marc sat and looked out the window, and he tried to forget the cave.

Mama squealed when she saw them, and a big smile came over her face. It was worth postponing exploring the cave. Marc ran to hug her. Every time he saw her, she looked smaller. She had been sitting on the porch at the sanatorium with her back to the sun, rocking as if that was all the day held for her. She didn't even have the knitting she usually had in her lap.

“My lands, Marc. You're growing so fast!” She tousled his hair and patted Bluedog, who wiggled all over at her touch.

“Hi, Mama. Surprised to see us?” Marc asked, as he and Bluedog sat on the steps at her feet.

“I sure am. Norman, why didn't you tell me you were coming early this week?” She turned her cheek up for his father's kiss.

Visiting Mama was the only time Marc's dad looked and acted normal. He smiled. “Then it wouldn't have been a surprise.”

“Shouldn't you be working?” she asked, half scolding.

“The work will wait. I've got clients coming out of my ears. They'll call or come back, and I'll work all day Saturday.”

Saturday was usually a half workday. His father stayed open for the farmers and people who couldn't get in during the week. Marc listened to his dad lie to his mother. But Marc would never tell her the truth himself. He didn't want to worry her.

“What are you doing now that school is out, Marc?” Mama asked, taking her son's hand in hers. Even her hands were tiny. Marc's hand looked like a man's hand in hers.

“Oh, not much. Riding my bike, messing around with Hermie and Eddie. They miss you, too. Mrs. Harrington doesn't like us in her kitchen, and even Gramma Sparks's cookies don't hold up to yours. There's a reward out for anyone finding Indian relics. We may poke around a bit, look for a grave everyone has missed.”

“Well, if anyone can find it, you can, Marc. I wish I could be out there with you in the woods.” Mama looked like a little girl, the way she'd taken to wearing her blond hair in braids since she'd come to Boonville. Easy to care for, she'd said, when his dad asked her why.

She looked tired every time they came, though, and her skin had gotten so pale. Marc had promised her he wouldn't worry about her, but it was hard to keep that promise. What he could do was not let her know he worried.

“I'll go say hi to Mr. Clearwater,” Marc said, after they had visited for a while. They never stayed too long, and Marc knew his parents needed a little time to themselves. “Stay here, Bluedog. Be a good girl.” He watched until she curled up under the steps.

Roy Clearwater was a full-blooded Osage. On good days he could remember some things about his childhood, or he'd tell Marc legends about the Osage Indian tribes, and how they came to settle in Arkansas. He said if he had any living relatives they were in Oklahoma now, on the reservation there, but his stories were about the past. The Osage had lived north of the Arkansas River and were a very warlike tribe. They had come into the area hunting buffalo and stayed because there were plenty of game animals. Marc figured any arrowheads he found in the woods were Osage, and most relics he and his dad had were from the Osage tribes.

When the Cherokee moved into their territory, there was nothing but trouble. Fort Smith was established to help keep the peace. Mr. Clearwater still got angry when he talked about the Cherokee. The old Indian man was a good storyteller; Marc could imagine the fierce battles between the warring tribes.

“Hello, Mr. Clearwater,” Marc said. His friend was sitting by the window looking out, probably visiting the past. “You look healthy enough to do a rain dance, but please don't. I've had enough rain for the whole summer.”

Roy Clearwater chuckled. His eyes were clear. It was one of his good days. Most of the patients at the sanatorium were very thin, but he had somehow escaped losing weight. He was very tall. He had wattles under his chin like a turkey, and his face was lined and dark like old leather. He had a high forehead and wore his hair, still only peppered with gray, combed back and down his shoulders. With a little imagination, Marc could see him in full headdress and one of those fringed leather outfits with lots of beadwork on the shirt—or maybe with a robe wrapped around his shoulders. Roy Clearwater had a picture of himself as a boy, but he had on an ordinary shirt and wore a plain rawhide headband. Had Marc seen too many movies? Did real Indians dress a lot plainer than they did on the screen?

Marc couldn't think about anything but the cave. “Did you ever go into any caves when you were a boy, Mr. Clearwater?” He knew that very early dwellers in Arkansas lived in the bluffs and maybe in some caves. The Osage were probably kin to those people.

“Oh yes. I used to look for things. Spears and …” The old man's voice drifted off. He was back in the past.

Marc waited patiently, but Mr. Clearwater began to hum. The tune was almost a chant. From past experience Marc knew when he did that, he would stay wherever he had retreated for longer than Marc had to visit. He got up and said good-bye. Mr. Clearwater didn't hear it. He might not even remember Marc had been there. It made Marc sad, but maybe it was easier for him to live in the past. It had to be more interesting than the sanatorium.

Marc liked the old Indian man. And Mr. Clearwater seemed to like Marc. He told Marc once that his wife and son had died a long time ago. So he had no close kin. Marc teased him that he'd be his kinfolk if he'd let Marc be Osage.

Maybe he'd tell Mr. Clearwater what he and Hermie and Eddie found in the cave. Mr. Clearwater would never tell anyone, or if he did, they would think he was talking about days gone by. Their secret would be safe.

Marc's dad was extra quiet on the way home. Finally Marc broke the stillness. “Is Mama ever going to get well?”

“Of course she is, boy. It's only a matter of time.” His father seemed angry that Marc had asked such a thing. But Marc wanted to know. He didn't want someone to lie to him or to tell him half-truths—or call him boy, for that matter. He had a name. Had his father forgotten it?

Usually they ate lunch at the sanatorium with Mama, but today they had left early and gotten home just after one o'clock. Marc got his own lunch. Marc wondered if his father was going to eat anything, but he didn't ask. If his dad wanted to ignore food or his son or anything else, Marc would try to ignore him, too. Especially now that he had a reason to sneak away from home quietly.

He piled a slice of bread with bologna, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and another slice of bologna for good measure. Then he spread mayonnaise on the top piece of bread, turned the sandwich over, and smeared mustard on the other slice. It was a real Dagwood Bumstead creation. He could hardly get it into his mouth to take a bite. Bluedog sat nearby hoping he'd drop half of it. He had gone out on the back step to eat. He liked being outside, and he didn't want to be in the house with his dad right then.

After topping off the sandwich with two glasses of milk and four cookies, Marc called Hermie.

“I'm back already, Hermie. We might have time to look around in the cave if we hurry.”

“I forgot I had to go to the dentist today, Marc. Mom is waving at me to hurry right now. She's taking an hour off from work.”

“You'll do anything to get out of going into the cave, won't you, Hermie? This is going to be the adventure of a lifetime—or at least of the summer.”

“That's what I'm afraid of. You and Eddie go on without me. I'll be disappointed, but I'll try to get over it.”

“I don't want to go without you, Hermie. We'll wait until tomorrow, as planned. Eight o'clock, with sack lunches and warm clothes. Promise? You won't invent another excuse? A haircut? A date with Louanne Swartzberger?”

Louanne Swartzberger was a girl in their class who was twice the size of Hermie and still growing, both up and out. She had chosen Hermie for a partner the day they had folk dance lessons in gym. Hermie suddenly had the worst appendicitis attack anyone in fifth grade had ever seen. Eddie and Marc secretly presented Hermie with an Academy Award for his performance, it had worked so well. Louanne was so mad she didn't speak to Hermie the rest of the year.

“I'll think about it while the dentist fills my tooth. I might decide the cave is the worse of two evils.”

Marc laughed and hung up. Then he thought of calling Eddie or going to the cave alone. But no one ever went spelunking without a partner. It just wasn't safe; anything could happen. He'd have to wait. At least he didn't have to worry about hurrying. The cave had remained hidden for years; no one else was going to find it by tomorrow.

“Bluedog,” Marc called. She had given up on the sandwich and flopped in the shade of the huge oak tree in back of their house. “Want to go swimming?”

Bluedog's tail turned into a flag waving a Fourth of July salute. “Go” was her favorite word, and she loved water. She was ready.

The swimming hole down by the river where kids hung out all summer would be jammed, but it would give Marc something to do. He knew he couldn't just wait or even sit still enough to read. He was too excited about what the morning might bring.

8

T
HE
C
AVE
'
S
S
ECRET

The next day Marc pretended to be asleep until he knew his father had eaten breakfast and gone into his office. Then he scrambled out of bed and hurried to gather up his spelunking gear. Dad had put his personal stuff in the shed behind their house. On the way out Marc got his dad's helmet and carbide lamp for Hermie. He had told Hermie to wear his oldest clothes and shoes. The cave might be muddy.

Bluedog wanted to go. Marc debated, knowing it was foolish to take a dog on a caving expedition. If there was some climbing, even scrambling up and over rocks, Bluedog would be a nuisance. On the other hand, Marc made a habit of taking her everywhere except to school. He'd be gone all day. And she
had
discovered the cave. He could make her sit and stay if they got into territory too difficult for her. Fortunately she was very well behaved.
Probably better behaved than I am
, Marc thought with a smile. He felt guilty going off without telling his father where he would be, but he knew he could never stand it if his dad said he couldn't go.

He ate a bowl of cereal while he thought about taking the dog. By the time he tipped up the bowl and drained the rest of the milk, he had voted yes. Bluedog, the spelunking dog. He hoped he wouldn't regret the decision. To his gear he added an old T-shirt for lowering her into the cave. It was still amazing to him that she had fallen into it while chasing the rabbit without getting hurt. She must have slid most of the way. And maybe her jumping ability had taught her to land safely. Yep, she'd be okay in the cave.

Marc took the precaution of hiding all their gear in his backpack and a duffel bag. If they ran into Mooney again, their supplies wouldn't give away where they were going. He'd say they were going to camp out.

“Hi, Hermie.” Marc met Hermie at his back door. “Ready?”

“I guess so.” Hermie sounded resigned to his fate. He was eating a banana and had a lunch sack big enough for two days' worth of food.

“Planning on staying underground overnight?” Marc asked, pointing to his sack and laughing.

“Lordy, I hope not. But I might get hungry. Where's Eddie?”

“He said he'd meet us here.” Hermie and Marc sat on the back steps of Hermie's house and waited. A half hour went by. Marc started to wiggle as much as Bluedog, who kept staring at him and smiling.
Why aren't we going someplace?
she was asking.

Eddie slid his bike to a stop in the driveway. “Sorry I'm late. Gramma made me go to the store for her.” He popped a comb out of his pocket and slipped it through both sides of his hair, as if riding over to Hermie's had put it out of place. No way, with the Brylcream plastering it down.

“Think you'll meet Louanne in the cave?” Hermie often gave Eddie a bad time about having his hair so neat. Eddie just threw Hermie a dirty look and put his comb away.

“I thought you might have had trouble slipping away.” Marc saw that Eddie had his gear hidden in an old backpack, too.

“Nah. Pops was dozing on the front porch. No one cares where I am.”

No one cares where I am either
, Marc thought. Then he remembered to be glad about that, this time.

“Okay, let's go.” Marc slipped on his pack and called to Bluedog, who was napping under the steps.

“Holy Cow! You taking that dog?” Eddie asked, with disbelief.

“Sure. She found the cave. She deserves to go.”

“That's dumb, Marc. A dog in a cave? That's a bunch of horse pucky.” Eddie pulled out and rode ahead of Marc and Hermie. It might be, Marc admitted again to himself, but he was determined to try Bluedog in the cave. She looked up at him and smiled as he got on his bike. “You want to go, don't you, Bluedog, don't you girl?”

She barked and bounced, eager to run.

Their luck held, and they didn't run into Mooney or anyone else who might ask where they were going. They did take the precaution, though, of hiding their bikes at the cutoff and looking in all directions before they disappeared into the brush and headed toward the cave entrance.

Bluedog didn't want to go back into the hole, but Marc went first and had Eddie and Hermie lower her down. She whined and leaned against Marc's legs when he took her out of the sling. “Good girl, Blue, good girl.” He reassured the dog that he would be with her.

“I don't like this,” Hermie said, when he tumbled in a heap beside Marc, knocking his glasses off. He had walked his way down the slope like Marc had instructed, but he let go of the rope before he got his footing.