Something to Hold (16 page)

And she told you to stay out of sight.

Raymond disappears back into the woods, and the three of us sit down at the campfire. Pinky starts in again about all the great things we have to look forward to at the junior high, like dances and football games. She even gets Jewel to smile a little bit.

Suddenly, something makes Jewel hold up her hand. "Wait!" she says with such force that Pinky stops in midsentence. Jewel jumps to her feet, listening.

Then I hear an engine working hard through the gears up the long road grade below. The sound fades in and out with the switchbacks through the woods. "Your
káthla's
coming back," I say.

Jewel's eyes are wide. Instantly, I know it's not
Káthla
who is speeding up that road. "You have to get out of here," says Jewel. "
Now.
"

"What's wrong?" Pinky looks from Jewel to me, frowning.

Walter is coming after Raymond and Jewel. There's no place they can hide and be safe. And there's nothing we can do about it.

Jewel stands frozen, staring off through the brush where the engine grinds louder around the curves below the hill. "Tell me!" Pinky grabs her arm. "What's going on?"

Her voice brings Jewel back into herself. She turns and points up toward the lookout. "Get your mom. We've got big trouble down here."

Pinky's eyes are huge, but she nods. "You guys come too."

Jewel shakes her head. "I can't leave Raymond." I wonder if he's close enough to hear all this.

"C'mon," Pinky says to me, and I'm ready to run with her up the hill, get as far away from here as possible. But Jewel can't face Walter by herself. "I have to stay." My eyes meet Pinky's, and the words tumble out of my mouth. "Tell your mom to call the police. Get Mr. Wewa. Tell him it's Raymond's stepfather, and he'll know what to do."

It must be something in my face that makes Pinky take off running. Or maybe it's the sound of the car almost to the top of the rise.

Jewel grabs my arm and pulls me around the side of the tent as Pinky disappears up the road. The thick brush slashes at us as we scramble through it. We duck under the low branches of a Douglas fir and flop down into the tangle of roots at its base. I peer through the brush, watching the road and trying to quiet my gasping breath.

The car swerves around the curve and lurches to a stop right in front of the tent. Walter sits behind the wheel, staring at the camp. Then he opens the door and gets out, slamming it behind him. "Where is he?" he shouts.

Walter sways a bit, then braces his hand against the car roof to steady himself.
He's been drinking.

Jewel draws in a sharp breath, and I tuck my shoulder up next to hers. I can feel her tremble.

Walter takes a few steps around the front of the car, keeping his hand on the hood. His boots scuff through the dirt, raising little puffs of dust. He looks around at the camp, at the woods. Like he can see through the brush. "You can't hide from me." Like he knows we're close by.

I'm sure he can't see us, but I have to fight the urge to run.

Walter steps across the ditch at the side of the road, and bats open the tent flap. I hear him inside, ugly sounds of ripping and smashing. When he comes back out, the sunlight glints off the long blade of a knife in his hand. He holds it like he knows how to use it.

I bury my face in the crook of my arm, unable to watch and afraid my pounding heart will give us away.

Walter throws his voice out across the woods. "I got all day."

Heavy, unsteady steps crackle the underbrush. They move away from where we're huddled under the tree. Still, I imagine I can feel the tremor of his steps through the ground.

The woods are silent, as if the birds and the wind have also gone into hiding. All I can hear is Walter thrashing through the bushes. Away from us for a few minutes, and then back. Then I get it—Walter is searching in a deliberate zigzag, first one direction, and then the other. The stuff he smashed in the tent, the bowl of peaches, the embers still warm in the fire ring. He
knows
Jewel and Raymond are here.

Please, God, help us.

Jewel gasps, a sudden, tiny breath beside me. He's coming. In a few seconds, he's going to see us.

"Don't move," Jewel whispers so low I can barely hear her. And then, amazingly, she pushes herself up off the ground and scrambles away from the tree.

She's trying to protect me.

The footsteps stop. "You thought you could get away from me." Walter taunts her, low and mean.

I've never heard a grownup talk like this.

There's nothing to stop him from hurting her. But maybe he won't in front of me. And I'm too scared to stay here by myself. I take a deep breath and get up too. Walter's eyes narrow when he sees me. I brush at the dirt clinging to my knees and elbows, then go stand beside Jewel.

Walter towers over us. Close enough that I can see the crinkled lines on his face, the puffy redness of his eyes. Catch a whiff of the sweet sickness on his breath.

"The old lady can keep the little creep," he says to Jewel. "But you're going with me."

Walter reaches to grab hold of Jewel's wrist, but she twists away. She yanks me by the arm, and we make a dash for the road. We jump to the other side of the fire pit as Walter lumbers around the side of the tent.

He stops short, breathing hard, and stares at us across the smoldering coals. Sweat has popped out across his forehead, but his eyes are ice cold. "Oh, you
are
going with me."

He holds up the knife and points the blade at Jewel.

"
No!
" Jewel pants, wilting like all the fight has gone out of her.

I'm terrified, but I've got to do
something.
I bend and pull a piece of kindling out of the fire. I hand the cool end to Jewel and then pick up another one.

Jewel holds the glowing stick out in front of her. "What do you think you're going to do with
that?
" Walter smirks. Jewel is shaking now. We hold each other up.

He steps slowly around the edge of the campfire. I grab Jewel's arm, and we move when he does, keeping the burning ends of the kindling pointed at his chest. We've got to stay out of reach of that knife.

A sudden movement catches my eye, and I'm startled by an explosion of shattering glass.
The car.

"
What the hell!
" Walter roars.

I spin around in time to see Raymond swing the bat high over his shoulder and blast out the second headlight. Then he grips the bat with both hands, holds it across his chest like a rifle. "Get out!" he screams. His voice is like a steel door slamming shut.

Walter looks wild with rage. He holds up the knife and takes a step toward Raymond. "Remember the last time." He spits out the words.

Raymond nods slowly. His eyes never leave Walter's face. "That will
never
happen again." He lifts the bat and destroys the window on the passenger side.

Walter jerks back like he'd been struck.

Jewel grabs my arm, and I see fire in her eyes again. "You're a coward!" she shouts. "Beating up on kids and old ladies." I hear fear and pain in her voice—and courage, too.

The first shadow of uncertainty flickers across Walter's face. He slowly moves toward his battered car, keeping a wary eye on Raymond. He opens the door and rests his boot on the running board. "You're worthless trash," he says. "Both of you." He gets behind the wheel. Before he can turn the key, I hear a second engine roaring up the road.

A tribal police car rounds the curve, red light pulsing on the roof. It skids sideways, blocking the road. Mr. Wewa jumps out of the cruiser, runs to Walter's car, and pulls him from the driver's seat.

In an instant, Walter's arms are shackled behind his back. He struggles to stand upright. "Get your dirty hands off me!" he yells.

Mr. Wewa stands in front of him, his hand resting on the holster at his hip. "Sir, you are under arrest."

"I didn't do nothing!"

Mr. Wewa holds up the knife. "Aggravated assault," he says, "and trespassing on tribal land."

Walter sneers. "You can't touch me."

"Well, I'm afraid you're wrong about that," Mr. Wewa says calmly. "Those are federal offenses. You can take it up with the FBI."

As Mrs. Wesley and Pinky come running down the hill, Mr. Wewa leads Walter to the cruiser, eases him down into the back seat, and slams the door. He takes a quick look at the broken windows and the shards of glass around Walter's car. "You kids OK?" he asks.

Still gripping the bat, Raymond nods.

Mr. Wewa studies Raymond, his face serious. "That was a dangerous thing to do," he says. Then his eyes soften. "But it was also very brave."

Raymond's expression doesn't change. I wonder if he has ever heard something like that from a grownup before.

Beside me, Jewel's shoulders begin to shake. She hasn't said a thing since Mr. Wewa arrived. Now she puts her hands up to her face and sobs.

Mrs. Wesley touches Jewel's shoulder. "It's OK, sweetie," she says. "It's over now."

Jewel looks at Mr. Wewa through her tears. "You stopped him," she says, disbelief in her voice.

"We would have tried a long time ago," he says gently. "If someone had told us how he was treating you. You have your friend to thank for that."

Mr. Wewa turns to me. "When the call came in, I was already on the road. Following a hunch about places where people might want to hide."

Mr. Wewa
did
listen, and he believed me.
Gratitude floods my heart.

***

Mrs. Wesley gathers us together and takes us back to the lookout. Jewel pins a note to the tent for her grandmother. On the hike up the hill, Pinky tells how she ran up the shortcut, then took the tower stairs two at a time. Once she could catch her breath and talk, Mrs. Wesley spread the word on the radio, and both Mr. Wewa and my dad responded.

"I told your dad what was happening," Mrs. Wesley says. "He'll come pick you up if you want to go home."

My heart is still beating hard, but I feel safe now that Walter is gone. And I'd hate to miss this time with my friends. "No—I want to stay."

She smiles and nods. Then she puts all of us to work fixing lunch.

Káthla
drives up as we start to eat. When she steps down from the pickup, her face is creased with worry, but she smiles when she sees Jewel and Raymond. She hugs them hard. Mrs. Wesley pulls out another plate, and we kids take ours out under the trees so that
Káthla
can sit at the table.

Raymond sits on a log off by himself, hunched over his food. I can't read his face. He hasn't said anything since Mr. Wewa locked Walter in the police car. I can't believe that someone would really pull a knife and say those things. I'm still shaky.

Pinky takes a bite of sandwich. "This might finally do it," she says.

"Do what?" asks Jewel.

"Get him out of your life."

Jewel stops chewing. Her shoulders suddenly relax. "Maybe," she says softly.

For the first time, I hear hope in her voice.

M
RS.
Wesley invites
Káthla
to move the camp up to the clearing by the tower, but she shakes her head. "We're fine now. We can go home in the morning."

Raymond and Jewel climb into the pickup, we say goodbye, and
Káthla
steers her old truck back down the hill. I watch until they are out of sight around the curve, the rumble of the engine swallowed by the trees.

That evening, Pinky and I sweep up the cabin after supper. At the radio, Mrs. Wesley signs off for the night.

"One last thing," says Mr. Wirt through the speaker. "Weather service says there's a front comin' in. Keep an eye on your weather station. Over."

"Ten-four," Mrs. Wesley says. "Sidwalter over and out." She twists the volume down but leaves the power on.

"A storm?" I ask. I think of all the fires started by lightning this summer.

Mrs. Wesley puts her hand on my arm and smiles. "I'm headed out to check. Come see."

The three of us walk out into the evening—it's so much cooler up here than at home. Almost jacket weather. I scan for clouds across the fading sky.

At the edge of the cleared area under the tower stands a small wooden box on metal legs, kind of like a square white beehive on stilts. When we get closer, I see that it's made of wooden slats like shutters. Mrs. Wesley lifts a latch and pulls the side down toward her. Inside is a simple box with what looks like Bill's science kit—a glass tube, a battery, a thermometer.

She leans in to check the tube. "He could be right," she says. "Barometer's down from this morning. Change coming." Then she looks at my face. "But you don't need to worry."
Just like my mom.

All of a sudden, everything from this long day sweeps over me, and my heart starts hammering again. I shut my eyes and try to breathe in and out slowly.

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Wesley says gently. She lays a hand on my shoulder. Her touch is warm. She pulls Pinky close with her other arm. "You've both been through a lot today."

"I was so scared," I finally say. "I didn't want to be, but I couldn't help it."

"Me either," says Pinky.

"But you went for help," I say.

Mrs. Wesley smiles. "And you stayed. You kids all looked out for each other." Mrs. Wesley gestures toward the road that winds down away from the tower. "Let's take a walk and enjoy the evening." Pinky and I fall into step with her. The breeze is quiet, moving with us through the gathering dark.

"A long time ago," Mrs. Wesley says after a bit, "the Creator placed the people where we needed to be so that we could care for everything around us. We are Wasco—the Creator placed us on the Big River, Nch'i-wána."

"The Columbia," I say. Mrs. Wesley nods.

As the road winds down the hill, the trees and brush hold the cool air close to us. Overhead, the light fades from the sky, and a few stars blink through.

"I was born near Celilo Falls," she continues, "where the river thundered over the rocks before the dams were built."