The End of the Trail (5 page)

“Don't be silly. Somebody must have a car we can borrow,” Frank said, ignoring Joe's whining. “Rhonda?”

“I'm afraid mine's on the fritz,” she said. “I've been waiting for a part for weeks. Bill McSavage has a truck, but I doubt he'd let you use it. Other folks have cars, but they need them.”

“So walking to Brighton may be our only alternative,” Joe said. “Let's grab our backpacks and go.”

“Hey, are you guys deserting me?” Biff asked.

“We'll be back as soon as possible,” Frank said. “Maybe with a medevac helicopter, if that's the only thing that can reach this place.”

“They'll probably send an ambulance,” Rhonda said. “Good luck.”

“Seems like you're in good company, Biff,” Frank said. “Come on, guys. Let's hit the trail.”

Frank waved an arm at Joe, Chet, and Phil. They walked toward the door.

“Hope you get me a helicopter,” Biff called after them.

“We'll do our best,” Frank said. He opened the door, and the group walked out onto the street.

The Appalachian Trail seemed like the best and fastest route to Brighton. Frank led the way back to the place where the trail up to the main trail began.

A tall man in a jacket stood next to the path. “Where do you guys think you're going?” he asked.

“Up to the Appalachian Trail,” Frank said.

“Yeah,” Joe added. “We're heading to Brighton to find medical help. Our friend broke his leg.”

The tall man scowled at them. “Well, you can't take the trail—the trail is closed.”

“What!” Frank exclaimed. “This is an emergency!”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Our friend is injured.”

“Too bad,” the man said. “There's been a storm. The trail is blocked. Also, the road out of town to Brighton. There've been flash floods. Nobody can leave Morgan's Quarry until the road and path are clear.”

“Oh, come on,” Joe said reasonably. “We didn't see or hear any storm. And we were on the trail just a few hours ago.”

“Storms come up fast,” the man said. “And I don't like it when people question my authority.”

“Who exactly are you?” Frank asked.

The man pulled an identification card out of his leather jacket. “I'm Paul Brickfield, sheriff of this area.”

“You're in charge around here?” Joe asked.

“That's right,” Brickfield said. “And I received a call an hour ago saying that all roads out of town are closed. We can't let you go back to the trail. It's too dangerous.”

Phil gave Sheriff Brickfield a curious look. “We really didn't notice any storm.”

“Yeah,” Chet said. “The weather was perfect when we were on top of the mountain.”

Sheriff Brickfield gave Chet a stern look. “So, are you meteorology students?”

“Um, no, not really,” Chet said.

“I'm not a meteorology student, either,” Frank said. “But this whole storm business sounds pretty bogus to me.”

“Well, if you boys try to go up this path, my deputies will chase you off,” Sheriff Brickfield said with a smug grin.

“Say, Sheriff, when the roads are clear how about taking our friend to Brighton? He needs to get to the hospital,” Joe said.

“We'll see, when the roads are safe to travel,” the sheriff answered with a slight smirk.

Joe turned to the others. “Let's go back into town. Looks like we'd better spend the night here, the way Rhonda suggested.”

With a shrug of resignation, Frank led the group back into town. They stopped briefly at Rhonda's house to let Biff know he wouldn't be leaving right away. He didn't seem to mind. The group then went next door to Mrs. Hibley's house, which had brightly colored flowers in the window. Joe went to the front door and knocked.

A very elderly woman looked out, a suspicious but not unfriendly expression on her face. “Can I help you, young men?”

“Yes,” Frank said. “We need a room for the night.”

“Oh, you must be the hikers I heard about,” she said. “Come on inside. My name is Grania Hibley.”

Joe glanced at Frank. “Looks like news travels fast in this town.”

“I have a wonderful room with four bunk beds,” the woman said. “Would you like that?”

“I'd like any place I can lie down and rest my sore feet,” Chet said.

“Then this should be perfect,” Mrs. Hibley said, leading the hikers into a large room. The walls were lined with bunk beds like those in a dormitory, though it looked as if no one had stayed there in a long time.

“This house used to be popular with the young miners who worked in the quarry,” Mrs. Hibley said. “Of course, that was a long time ago. I was just born then.”

“This will be fine,” Frank said. “Should we pay you now or before we leave?”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” Mrs. Hibley said. “You boys can settle up with me tomorrow. Just come in and have supper with me in half an hour. Then you can have a nice sleep.” She left the room with a smile, closing the door behind her.

Before the boys followed her out to the dining room, they washed up. “Looks like we're stuck in Morgan's Quarry for the night,” Joe said, lathering his hands.

“And maybe longer than that,” Frank added. “Sheriff Brickfield didn't look happy to let anybody go on that trail.”

“If it's just a storm,” Phil said, “it should clear up by tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Frank said.

“Something got you suspicious?” Joe asked.

“I'm not sure,” Frank said. “There's just something about this whole town.”

“Yeah, I'm sensing something's wrong big time,” Joe said. “But maybe we're just hungry. Let's go eat.”

“I'm in favor of that,” Chet said, and led the way to the dining room. It had been a long day.

•  •  •

The first to wake up the next morning was Chet. The aroma of pancakes and sausages filled the air.

“Smells like an old-fashioned country breakfast!” Chet declared.

Joe peered out wearily from underneath his pillow. “I feel like I've just walked a hundred and fifty miles.”

“You have,” Frank said. “We all have.”

Chet leaped out of bed. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to eat.”

“Has there ever been a time when you
weren't
ready to eat?” Joe asked.

“I hope that shower has lots of hot water,” Frank said. “Even after a shower last night, I've stilll got enough dirt on me to grow tomatoes.”

“Tomatoes sound good,” Chet declared.

After showering Chet followed his nose out into the hallway and into the dining room, just one door down from where they had been sleeping. Mrs. Hibley was busy setting plates on a large table.

“Oh, you boys are just in time,” she said cheerfully. “I've made a big breakfast for you. Are you hungry?”

“You've got that right,” Chet said, planting himself at the table and looking up expectantly.

“Watch out for Chet,” Frank said, walking in with a groggy look on his face. “He'll eat you out of house and home.”

“I don't think that's likely,” Mrs. Hibley said. “I've got plenty of food.”

“You haven't met Chet,” Joe said, entering with Phil.

Mrs. Hibley began serving breakfast, bringing in platters filled with scrambled eggs, home fries, pancakes, and sausages. Chet piled large amounts of each item on his plate.

“Thank you very much, ma'am,” Chet told Mrs. Hibley. “I think I'd like to live here.”

“It's a pleasure to feed someone with such a healthy appetite,” Mrs. Hibley responded.

The other teens joined Chet in digging in. Mrs. Hibley's breakfast was delicious. Joe and Frank missed their aunt Gertrude's cooking, but Mrs. Hibley's was almost as good.

Chet held out his plate. “Can I have seconds on those pancakes?”

Mrs. Hibley beamed. “Why, of course you can.”

“We just love your cooking, Mrs. Hibley,” Joe said. “I'd like some more of these sausages, if you don't mind.”

“You're starting to sound like Chet,” Frank said to his brother. “Actually, I'd like some more scrambled eggs myself.”

“And home fries?” Phil asked.

“Coming right up,” Mrs. Hibley said. “Oh, I just love cooking for a roomful of young men.”

Joe leaned toward Frank. “So, you think we'll be able to get out of town today?”

“Hard to tell,” Frank said. “We'll have to try going back to the trail again, and hope Sheriff Brickfield isn't there.”

Frank finally pulled himself up from the table, his stomach full. “Great meal, Mrs. Hibley, but we have to get going.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Hibley said. “Won't you stay for raspberry tart?”

“I'll stay,” Chet volunteered.

“No, you won't,” Joe said. “But, boy, the tart sure smells good.”

Frank grabbed Chet around the shoulders. “Come on, Chet. We have to go take care of Biff.”

Chet struggled to break loose from Frank's grip. “Hey, I was just being polite.”

“Real polite,” Joe said. “If Mrs. Hibley offered you another course of sausages and home fries, you'd be here the rest of the morning.”

“There's more where that came from,” Mrs. Hibley said cheerfully.

“That's okay, ma'am,” Frank said. We've got to be on our way.”

“Hey, I was just...” Chet shut up abruptly when Joe tugged on his shoulder.

“Really, that was a great meal,” Joe said.

“The best,” Phil agreed.

Joe gave Mrs. Hibley the money for their night's stay, promising that they'd be back for their bags soon. The four teenagers walked quickly out of the dining room and through the front door. Main Street glowed brightly in the morning sunlight. Rhonda's door was unlocked, so they went in. Biff and Rhonda were engaged in a heated conversation.

“So, how's it going?” Frank asked.

“Just great,” Biff said. “It was almost worth getting my leg banged up to talk to Rhonda.”

“Biff's doing fine,” Rhonda added. “Oh, Sheriff Brickfield stopped by and said the path and roads are still too dangerous to travel, so it looks like you'll be here a little longer.”

“Oh, great,” Joe moaned. “It's like everything's conspiring to keep us here.”

“And that means Mrs. Hibley can keep feeding us,” Chet said happily.

“At least two people are happy in this town,” Frank said. “Biff and Chet.”

“Well, the rest of us have to find something to keep busy,” Joe said. “What do you suppose people do for fun around here?”

“Not much,” Rhonda said. “Visit neighbors, watch TV.”

“Hey, we could go visit that farmer guy, McSavage,” Chet suggested. “He invited us to see his place.”

“Doesn't sound too exciting to me,” Joe said.

“You never know,” Frank said. “Maybe we
should
have a look around up there.”

Frank, Joe, Chet, and Phil left Rhonda's house and headed up the hill to the McSavage mansion. As they got closer, it appeared even larger than they had thought, but they could see it wasn't in very good repair. The paint was badly chipped, and a shutter was hanging partially off its hinges. The grass in the front yard burst up in patches, as though much of it had
been allowed to die from lack of water while the rest hadn't been cut in years.

Bill McSavage had apparently seen them coming up the hill, because he came bounding out the front door with a large grin on his face. “Hello, boys,” he declared. “I've been looking forward to showing you around the place.”

“Nice farm,” Phil said. “What do you grow?”

“Right now,” McSavage said, “mostly grasses for hay. And we've got some cows for milk. Oh, and we've got the most wonderful horse.”

“Cool,” Chet said. “I really like horses. Can we have a look at him?”

“Sure,” McSavage said. “Formby is real friendly. He'll just love you boys.”

“Would you mind if I hung around up here by the house while you guys looked at this horse?” Frank asked. “I'm, uh, something of an architecture buff, and this place seems very interesting.” Joe noticed an odd look cross Frank's face, though nobody else saw it.

“Suit yourself,” McSavage said. “This house dates back to the late nineteenth century and I'm sure you'll find it fascinating. The rest of you, come with me.”

Joe hung back for a moment and whispered in his brother's ear. “What was that about? You're up to something.”

“There's something funny about this town,” Frank
said. “Those guys with the sack of money, that sheriff who won't let us get out of here, the storm that may have been, phones that conveniently break, and this old house watching over the whole place. I want to check it out.”

“Just don't get yourself in trouble,” Joe said. “Remember, Bill's got farmhands looking after this place.”