The Old House (11 page)

As they went up the back steps together, Max shot her a look. “Did your dad leave you a note when he went away?”

“A note?” She was momentarily distracted from the accusation against her mother. “No, why would he leave a note? We were all together at home, and he told us what to do, and Rich picked him up right in front. He told me to mind Bart and said he'd be back in week or so and we'd all go out for steaks or pizza, whichever we wanted. He hugged us and got in Rich's car and waved good-bye, and that was all.”

Max held open the screen door for her. “My mom left a note. We didn't get a chance to say good-bye. She was sorry she couldn't take me with her, because she didn't have any money and didn't know how she was going to manage, but she said she'd write later.”

“And did she?”

“Yeah, about once a month. Says she misses me.” Max wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “I know she feels bad that I have to live with Pa, when she couldn't. She explained it to me. Said he was an alcoholic and would never change, and she couldn't stand it any longer. But I'm still stuck with him. Whew! Grandpa's been at the thermostat again!”

The house was very hot. They heard the talking clock, and found Grandpa standing before the thermostat in the dining room. He heard them coming and gave them a triumphant grin.

“Somebody stuck this junk all over it so I couldn't turn it up any higher, but I got it all off,” he told them, holding the wads of duct tape and the little wedge of wood that had limited the settings.

Max held out his hand for the stuff. “Sorry, Grandpa, but I'm going to have to put them back on. If it gets too hot, nobody else can breathe in here, and they're afraid you'll burn the house down. Come on, let's go get your sweater, okay?”

“I wouldn't burn anything down,” the old man protested, though he allowed himself to be steered out of the dining room. “I used to put out fires, you know. I was on the volunteer fire department for years. If there wasn't anybody to look after the store, I'd lock it up and jump in my pickup and off I'd go, whenever the whistle blew. We had signals in those days, you know. No CBs in people's trucks. One blast was for the north side of town. Two meant south. Three was east, and four toots meant we headed west. We always found the fire, following the pumper truck and the siren, and most of the time we put it out.”

He obediently held out an arm for his sweater when Max fetched it for him. “I always made a donation for the fire department when they asked. Did I make my donation yet this year?”

“I don't think so,”
Max told him. “Man, it's broiling in here. You want a cold drink?” He peered into the refrigerator. “Which do you want?”

“Orange,” Grandpa decided. Buddy and Max settled for grape, and Max handed out the cans.

“How come I didn't make a donation yet? The fire department's a worthy cause,” Grandpa said as they took chairs around the table.

“I don't think you've got any money, Grandpa,” Max told him, sliding a glance toward Buddy to see if she was going to erupt again.

The old man frowned. “I used to have money. A lot of money. Filled up a whole bag with cash.”

“Yeah, well, it's gone now,” Max informed him. “You should have put it in the bank instead of keeping it at home.”

Grandpa was still scowling. “Don't trust banks. They all failed.”

“That was many years ago, Grandpa,” Max assured him. “The banks are all right now. You should have just let old Peterson write you a check, and put it in the bank.”

“Alf Peterson. Never trusted him. He wrote
bad checks. I remember. I didn't trust him to pay for the store with a check, so I insisted on cash. There was a whole lot of it. The banker didn't want him to have that much in cash, but I insisted. It was
my
money. Alf bought a car from me once and the check bounced and I had a terrible time getting my money out of him. Couldn't trust him as far as I could have thrown him.”

Buddy's mouth had gotten drier and drier in spite of the grape soda. “Why did you think Mama took your cash money?”

Shock flashed across Max's face, but Grandpa's look turned puzzled. “Your mama? Did I say your mama took my money?”

“EllaBelle was my mother.” Buddy pushed forward, determined to know more than Max had told her. “Max says Aunt Addie and Aunt Cassie both think she stole your money.”

“I never said that, did I?” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “I don't remember saying that. I just put it somewhere safe, didn't I?”

Buddy leaned forward on her elbows. “Where? Where was it safe?”

“I don't know,” the old man said after a
moment during which he thought hard. “I have a little trouble with my memory these days, you know. Can't always remember everything, the way I used to. Don't worry. It'll turn up one of these days.”

“After two and a half years?” Max muttered under his breath.

“But you don't think EllaBelle stole it?” Buddy asked hopefully.

“EllaBelle was a nice little girl. Prettiest one of the bunch, wasn't she? All those curls.” He squinted at Buddy. “You don't have curls, do you?”

“No. I can't believe she stole your money, Grandpa.”

“No. I can't, either. I used to feed her butterscotch drops. Grandma scolded me for giving all the youngsters candy, but I can't see that it hurt them any. Didn't spoil their appetites much, and I always told them to brush their teeth afterward. Do you brush regularly?”

Buddy was getting that down-the-rabbit-hole feeling again.

What had she learned today? Several things,
none of them trustworthy. There was no way she'd ever be convinced that her mother had been a thief. She looked at Max. Surely he, too, could see that not everything he'd heard was necessarily true.

Max wiggled his eyebrows, signaling his own bafflement.

“Why do grown-ups talk in riddles instead of saying the truth straight out?” Buddy asked in frustration.

“I try to say the truth straight out,” Grandpa asserted. “Always have. Good business. People trust you.”

Max laughed. “You're one of us kids, Grandpa,” he said, and drained his can of pop as he stood up. “I better go find another stick of wood and fix that thermostat before anybody else gets home. They get upset when he undoes their traps or their tricks.”

Grandpa turned to follow his movements. “What's he going to do?”

“Fix the thermostat,” Buddy told him, flinching at her own evasive response after she'd just wished that people would speak more plainly.

“Good. Good. It needs fixing. It was broken, so I couldn't turn it up,”
Grandpa said. “Is it suppertime yet?” He punched the button on his clock and got the time. “Have we had supper yet?”

“No, Grandpa. But it's cooking. We'll eat when Aunt Cassie and Aunt Addie come home.”

“Good girls,” Grandpa approved. “Always been really good to me. Take care of me. Kind of bossy, though, sometimes.”

Max was right, Buddy thought. Addie and Cassie were the grown-ups, and she and Max and Grandpa were the kids. They were the ones who didn't have anything to say about what they had to do.

And what would happen if Bart didn't find Dad? Sorrow rushed through her, making her ache with an almost physical pain. Bart had to find him, she thought, determined not to give in to despair. But it was getting harder all the time.

  •  •  •  

Gus had a concussion, but he didn't have to stay in the hospital in Kalispell. The doctor said he could recuperate just as well at home. Buddy got the impression that the trip had not been a particularly pleasant one. Gus was
grumpy and said he was going to lie down again, and Cassie was clearly worn out.

She checked on the Crock-Pot, and thanked Buddy for keeping an eye on Grandpa. “I hope he wasn't too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Buddy said, deciding not to mention the altered thermostat and the answers Grandpa had given to her questions. She wanted to press the issue of Mama's stealing Grandpa's money, but didn't quite dare. Maybe when Bart and Dad showed up, and they were ready to leave, she would be brave enough to confront her aunts about it, but not now. Not while she still had to live here, under their supervision.

She wondered if her father had any idea what they thought, and could not believe that he did.
Oh, Daddy, please come back! Please be safe,
she begged silently.
Please let us be a normal family again.

She could hardly believe that it would ever happen, yet she refused to give up hope.
Soon, soon there will be another phone call from my brother, and it will be all right. She had to believe that, or her heart would truly break.

Buddy's second night in the old house wasn't nearly as disrupted as the first one. She kept hearing Grandpa's talking clock, but somehow it didn't bother her as much as it had the previous night. It helped to know that it was his way of orienting himself in a world where so much was beyond his ability to see or understand or remember.

And he did remember her mother with fondness. He didn't think EllaBelle had stolen his money.

There were no explosions, no late-night overheard conversations, nothing further to upset her.

The only thing making her uneasy on Sunday morning, except for worrying about Dad and Bart, was the idea of going to church in a
town where everyone had known her entire family all their lives. Probably some of them thought her mother had stolen money from Grandpa, though Max said he didn't think Addie and Cassie had talked about it. Still, Buddy had lived in a number of small towns like this, and it always seemed that if you so much as spit on the sidewalk, the word got back to your folks before you had time to get home.

The phone didn't ring. No report from her brother. Grandpa had to be bullied into taking a shower, which he insisted he didn't need, and there was a brief interlude during which the old man thought Blackie was back.

“No, Grandpa,” Max said firmly. “This isn't Blackie. Blackie got hit by a car a long time ago. This is Scamp. See, he's a different color. And he's
my
cat.”

Gus, it became apparent, did not join the family at church. They didn't take the car; they walked. It was only three blocks. And just as Buddy had feared, it seemed that the entire town was there.

Cassie had allowed plenty of time to get
there and greet all their neighbors before the service began.

The ladies all approached, smiling, or, in a few cases, not smiling. “EllaBelle's girl,” they said. “Looks just like her.” “How do you like it here in Haysville, dear?” Or, “Buddy? They call you Buddy?”

Buddy had begun to wonder how she could manage to get rid of that nickname. She didn't like the way people reacted to it, when their eyebrows and their voices went up upon hearing it.

It was a relief when the organ began to play, and they went inside the old white frame church with the steeple atop it, and found places in one of the long pews. Max, along under pressure, escaped to sit with some friends up in the balcony. Buddy found herself sandwiched between Addie and Grandpa, with Cassie beyond him.

“If he sings too loud,” Addie whispered, “stick your elbow in his ribs.”

He
did
sing very loudly, but he sang on-key, and he knew the words to all the hymns without having to be able to read them in the book. Buddy didn't
poke him. She rather enjoyed it when he belted out, “‘When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there.'”

On the way out after the sermon, the pastor shook Grandpa's hand and said with a smile, “You were in fine voice this morning, Harry.”

“Cassie says the Lord's not deaf, so I don't need to shout. But I want to be sure He hears me.”

The pastor laughed and reached for Buddy's hand. “Good to have you with us, young lady. I hope you're enjoying your visit.”

She couldn't quite bring herself to murmur just how much she was enjoying it, but she thanked him and walked gratefully out into the sunshine.

The school principal, Herbert Faulkner, spoke to her, too. “Be looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning, Amy Kate,” he said.

She couldn't come up with an appropriate response to that, either. She was praying that before then Bart would call and say he and Dad were on their way here, and there'd be no need for her to start school in Haysville.

They walked home slowly, Cassie and Addie
ahead, Buddy and Grandpa behind. Max had gone on ahead. The old man leaned on his cane, but he was otherwise quite sprightly. “Good sermon,” he said. “I always enjoy a good sermon.”

“Especially when it's not aimed at you,” Addie said.

“It was aimed at Gus, I think. But he wasn't there, was he? I'll have to tell him about it,” Grandpa offered.

Startled, Buddy wondered if he'd remember until they got home, and what Gus would think of being listed among the sinners. It probably wouldn't improve Gus's disposition, though it rather tickled her that Grandpa was sharp enough to grasp the point of the sermon.

“Saw Jack Cline,” Grandpa went on. “Told him I thought he was dead. But he said, No, he was quite alive. Just been on a trip to Florida. Tampa, I believe.”

Max met them at the door when they got home. “There was a phone call for Buddy, I think. The Caller ID didn't give his name, or hers, but it came from a pay phone in Willits, California. I figured your brother was maybe there, looking for your dad.”

Anguish rushed through Buddy's chest. Bart had called, and she'd missed him! Oh, why hadn't she insisted on staying at home, just in case? Now she didn't know if he had news or not, if it was good or bad—

“He'll call back,” Addie said, seeing her face.

But it was Addie who thought her father was unreliable, that he couldn't be trusted to keep his promise to come back for his children.