Shiloh Season (2 page)

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Every day when school lets out in Sistersville, the bus rolls alongside the Ohio River till it gets to Friendly, then turns and winds up the road toward the little community of Shiloh, which is where I found my dog. Which is why I named him what I did. One by one, sometimes two and three at a time, kids get off. David, of course, gets off in Friendly. Then Sarah and a few of the others, then Michael, then Fred, till at last it's only Dara Lynn and me. The bus goes as far as the old mill and turns around.

And always, there's Shiloh, barreling down the driveway to meet us, his legs can hardly go any faster. Skids sometimes, whole body leanin' sideways, gravel flying out from under his paws, but he's standing there with his tongue out the minute Dara Lynn and me step off that bus, ready to lick us up one side of our faces and down the other.

I love this dog more than I ever loved anything in my whole life, I think. Except Ma and Dad. And Becky. And . . . well, I suppose, even Dara Lynn. One night I dreamed Judd Travers come to me with his shotgun, said he was going to shoot either Shiloh or Dara Lynn, which would it be? And I woke up in a cold sweat-still couldn't decide. Suppose I'd save Dara Lynn, it ever come to that, but boy, she'd have to work the rest of her life tryin' to make it up to me.

I get out the scrap of sandwich I always save in my lunch bucket and make a game of it with Shiloh. Take it out, cupped in my hands, then lie down in the grass, hands under my chest. Shiloh tries every which way to roll me over and get at that crust of bread, little sliver of ham still stuck to it.

After he gets it, though, Dara Lynn has to go through her hugging business, and Shiloh puts up with that, too.

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"How's my wittle Shiloh-biloh-wiloh?" she sings, picking him up in her arms like a baby. He washes her face clean with his tongue, 'specially the corners of her mouth where there's still the flavor of lunch.

Too disgusting to watch, you want the truth, so I go on up to the house and Dara Lynn comes after.

On this day Becky's on the porch swing playing airplane or boat, either one. Looks maybe like she's playing boat, 'cause she's got a string hanging down over the side, like she's fishing.

When I get in the house, Ma's on the phone with Dad's sister over in Clarksburg. First time we've had a telephone in three years. Ever since Grandma Preston's mind started to go, Aunt Hettie had to have a nurse come in while she was at work to watch Grandma all the time. It was Dad who paid for that nurse, every spare cent we had.

Last month, though, Grandma Preston had a stroke, and what little sense she had left all but went. Not only that, but her kidneys failed. Got a bad hip so she can't get in and out of bed no more by herself, and Aunt Hettie was up half the night with her, still trying to work days.

"Your mother needs more care than you can give her," the doctor says finally to Aunt Hettie, so Dad drove down, and he and Aunt Hettie put Grandma in a nursing home.

Weird thing is, though, long as we were all trying to care for Grandma Preston ourselves-Aunt Hettie doing the work and Dad sending the money-we didn't get any help. Now that Grandma Preston's in a nursing home, not one penny -to her name, the government pays for the nursing home and Dad says we can afford a telephone again and a few other things we've had to do without.

Dara Lynn and I sit down at the table, taking turns

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easing our hands into a box of graham crackers and listening to Ma.

"She did, Hettie? Oh, land, what next?" Ma's saying. Becky comes in and we give her a cracker. But soon as Ma's off the phone, I say, "What happened?"

Ma shakes her head. "I want the three of you to promise that I ever get to acting crazy, you'll remember me the way I am now."

Dara Lynn gets this gleam in her eye. "I'U remember you acting crazy!" she says.

"What'd Grandma do?" I ask. "How much trouble can she get into when she's in a wheelchair?"

Ma sighs. "She's been wheeling herself into other people's rooms uninvited. Men's rooms. She's got it in her head that Grandpa Preston's still alive and they're hiding him somewhere."

Becky stares, but Dara Lynn laughs out loud, and it's all I can do not to grin.

"Aunt Hettie's afraid if Grandma don't behave herself, they'll put her out, but those nurses know what to do. They understand."

Nice thing about a telephone is it helps you make plans. Before, when I wanted to say something to David Howard, I'd have to give the message to Dad, and Dad would tell it to David when he put the mail in their box. Then I'd have to wait all day for Dad to get home to find out what David said.

Now when the phone rings, everybody wants to answer. Becky, when she gets there first, puts her mouth right up to the phone and says in this tiny little voice, "Hi, I'm Becky and I'm three years old and ... and I have a dog." Somethin'

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like that. You almost have to sit on her to wrestle that telephone out of her hand.

The phone rings again and I answer. It's David.

"Why don't you stay at my house Friday night and I'll stay at yours on Saturday?" he says.

I ask Ma. She says yes, if I be sure my socks and underwear are clean.

So Friday of that week, I put my toothbrush in my pencil case before I leave for school, and when Shiloh follows Dara Lynn and me down to the end of the driveway, I'm thinking how when the bus gets back that afternoon, I'm not going to be on it.

I kneel down in the grass beside my dog.

"Listen, Shiloh," I say. "I'm not comin' back tonight. I'm staying over with David Howard, but I'll be home tomorrow, okay?" As though he understands a single word. I'm thinking that maybe he understands something's going to be different, even though he don't know what.

The bus comes then around the bend, and Shiloh barks and backs away. He don't much care for the big yellow monster that gobbles us up weekday mornings, and spits us out again each afternoon.

After I get on and the bus turns around, I always go to the back window and look out. See Shiloh trotting up the driveway, tail between his legs. He stops every so often and looks back, then goes a few steps more.

And I'm thinking that much as I like David Howard, much as I like going to his house, I sure don't like the thought of me being gone a whole night, Shiloh at home without me, and Judd Travers maybe out there in the dark.

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Three

Kids are always wild at school on Fridays. Restless to get the weekend started-go poking along the bank of

Middle Island Creek, maybe-borrow someone's rowboat and row out to an island, if the water's deep enough. Could wade across, if it isn't.

Funny, but as long as I can remember, Ma's called it "the river." Dad told us, soon as she laid eyes on it after he married her and brought her here, she says, "That's no creek to me; it's wide as a river." So we kids forget sometimes and call it "the river," too.

On the bus going home, Michael Sholt's got another story about Judd Travers getting in a fight down in Bens Run a couple nights back, but I don't hear the end of it, 'cause I get off with David Howard, and Dara Lynn rides the rest of the way without me.

I always feel a little strange at David Howard's. It's a big house, for one thing-all kinds of rooms in it. A whole

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room just for David. Another room for his father's books and computer. Even a room for plants! I told Ma about that once and she said if it was her house, she'd put some of those plants outside where they belong and make more room for people.

Meals are fancier at David Howard's, too. The food doesn't taste any better than it does at home, but Mrs. Howard has placemats under all the plates and cloth napkins rolled up in plastic rings. The way I eat at David Howard's, I watch what everybody else does before I start in.

His folks are nice, though. His dad works for the Tyler Star-News, and talks to me a lot about basketball, even though I like baseball better. He always forgets. Asks me about the New York Knicks when it's the White Sox I got my eye on.

Mrs. Howard's a teacher, and she can't help herself: she sees something wrong, she corrects it.

"Shiloh don't like to see me climb on the bus each morning," I say at dinner, about the time she's passing out the dessert.

"He doesn't, Marty?" she says. "He doesn't like to see you climb on the bus?"

"No, he don't," I answer, my eyes on the chocolate pie, and then David giggles and I know I goofed again.

After dinner, David and me go outside and play kick-the-can with some other kids till after dark, and when we come in, Mr. Howard teaches me some moves on a chessboard. After that we eat some more and watch a video, Homeward Bound. Then we take turns in the shower and have to mop up the floor.

That night I'm lying on the top bunk in David's room and I can't believe I'm homesick. Thinking about my

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family, what they had for supper, whether or not the telephone rang, and who answered. What crazy thing Grandma Preston done this time, and whether Shiloh's watching the door, waiting for me to come home.

I'm thinking Ma will give him extra love tonight. She don't know this, but once-when Shiloh was healing his hurt leg-I woke real early in the morning from where I sleep on our couch, and across the room I saw my ma in the rocking chair. She had Shiloh on her lap, and was rocking and singing to that dog like he was a baby. I figure Ma's just getting herself ready for the day Becky, Dara Lynn, and me are grown and gone.

Haven't heard a peep from David Howard for a while down on that bottom bunk, and I figure he's probably already asleep. We played so hard and so long he's a right to be tired.

I wasn't, though. Hard to sleep with cars going by every few minutes, the beam from their headlights traveling along the wall. I'm lying there on my side, about to close my eyes, when suddenly this horrible face with red eyes and green lips pops right up beside me, not five inches from my own, and bobs up and down-a floating head.

I yell. Can't help myself, and then David's having a laughing fit down below.

"Settle down, you guys," comes Mr. Howard's voice as he passes our door.

I want to know how David did that, though, so I crawl down the ladder and push my way onto David's bed, punching his arm. David's got his head under the covers, he's laughing so hard.

"How'd you do that?" I whisper.

David shows me this rubber Halloween mask. He puts

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it on and holds a flashlight under his chin. Then, when he moves around and all that's lit up is the mask, it looks like a floating head. I'm thinking how I can't wait to try that on Dara Lynn.

We lay on our backs on David's bunk and talk some more about school and the story Michael Sholt was telling, about Judd getting in a fight with someone. We talk about the way he's been drinking lately, and I tell him Ma's guess-that Judd looks in the mirror and don't like what he sees.

David raises up on one elbow. I can just make out his face in the dark. His eyes are wide open.

"You know what that means!" he says. "What?"

"He's a vampire!" David says, his eyes about to jump out of his head. Even when David knows it's crazy, his imagination still runs off with him.

"You're nuts," I say.

"Vampires hate mirrors. If they ever look in a mirror, they die or something."

"Then if he was a vampire he wouldn't even have one!" I tell David.

"Oh," David says, and lays back down. A minute goes by and David pops right up again.

"A werewolf!" he says.

"David, you're as crazy as Grandma Preston," I say, and then I'm ashamed. It's not like she wants to be.

But David's excited all over again. "It figures, Marty! He looks in the mirror and sees fur and fangs, and he just goes a little crazy. The only way to find out ..."

I know what's coming before David ever says the next word.

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"I'm staying at your place tomorrow night. We'll go check out Judd then. Okay?"

"Okay," I tell him.

David don't think Judd Travers is a werewolf any more than I do. He just likes the idea of spying on him-stirring up a little excitement.

I crawl back up in the top bunk and can hear David snoring after a while. I fall asleep some time later, but don't know how long it's been 'cause all at once, middle of the night, there's this loud yell.

My eyes pop open, and the yell seems to hang in the air like an echo.

Can't figure out where I am. The bed's smooth, not lumpy like our couch. Then I remember I'm at David Howard's, and figure it was me who yelled. Wondered if I'd woke him up.

The dream was so real. Dreamed I'd just got up out of bed and walked home. Seemed to be half light-early morning, maybe-and I was hoping Ma would be up, tell me Shiloh was okay. But nobody seemed to be around, and I could see Shiloh sleeping out on the porch.

Whew, I'm thinking. He's all right.

Everything looks calm and natural, but just as I get close to the house, I see this long stick there in the bushes.... Looks like a branch has fallen out of a tree, maybe, and then I see it's not a stick at all, it's a gun, and it's pointed straight at Shiloh.

It's the kind of dream where your legs don't move, and you yell and yell, but no sound comes out.

Except I must have made some noise, because next thing I know I hear footsteps out in the hall and our door clicks open.