Way Down Deep (6 page)

Miss Arbutus smiled at her in the looking glass. “Then he is handsome?”

“Oh, yes, very handsome. But he needs to go see Mr. Bevins at the barbershop and get a good haircut.”

“Perhaps he hasn't the money,” Miss Arbutus said.

“That's probably true,” Ruby said. “His daddy is going to work at the A&P for Mayor Chambers on Monday. It could be a permanent job. Peter wants a regular job, but I told him he might start by doing odd jobs for people. He asked if he could come by here tomorrow and see if you have something for him to do, and I told him yes.”

“I might have work for him,” Miss Arbutus said. “A boy needs a little spending money.”

“Their granddaddy's name is Bird,” Ruby said. “He's a bit addled. He rambled on and on about panthers.”

Miss Arbutus seemed startled. “Panthers!”

Ruby nodded, and continued talking about Peter, but after a while it appeared that Miss Arbutus was not listening to her.

“What's wrong, Miss Arbutus? You act like your mind is somewhere else.”

“Oh, it's nothing. Speaking of panthers reminded me of something, that's all. It brought back a memory.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Not tonight. It's bedtime now.”

And they said good night. Ruby went to her own room and stood in front of the window to view the hills against the night sky, just as she had always done. But this time was different. This time she forgot to say to her parents, “Don't forget me. Woo-bee is right here waiting for you.”

Instead she said, “I hope he likes me.”

Then she crawled into bed and let the night breeze waft over her. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. A dream of panthers rose up from the depths of the night.

In the next room Miss Arbutus was having the same disturbing dream of panthers screaming through the wild hills. They drew closer and closer to her until she woke up with a gasp. She did not sleep again that night. Instead she lay awake watching daylight creep over the mountains.

She heard the five o'clock freight train come hurtling into the valley toward the Way Down station. Its heartrending
shriek reverberated throughout the dew-misted hills.

The train whistle was followed by the sound of the milkman's truck as it came to a stop in front of The Roost. The glass bottles clinked against one another as the milkman, Mr. Stacey, walked under Miss Arbutus's window. Mr. Stacey murmured to Jethro as he delivered a dozen eggs, a gallon of sweet milk, a quart of buttermilk, a pint of cream, and a pound of butter. He placed them carefully in a covered basket on the small back porch.

Miss Arbutus was reminded of another warm dawn in another June. She took a few moments to savor that memory before rising to meet the new day.

Meals served at Miss Arbutus's great oak table were lively, noisy affairs, with several conversations going on at once. This morning, with some of the guests dressed for church, was no exception.

Two businessmen who had arrived last night in a Packard were discussing the state of the economy with Judge Deel, while Mrs. Thornton Elkins, Mr. Gentry, and Miss Worly were talking about the importance of an education.

Lester Horton was there for his periodic visit, and Ruby was entertaining him with anecdotes about Jethro. Miss Arbutus did not participate in any exchange, as was her habit. She was nibbling at a piece of bacon and gazing out the window.

As usual, Mr. Crawford was sleeping in and would not be up for several more hours.

Above the din, Ruby caught part of a sentence, “. . . the oldest one, Peter. Smart as a whip!”

“Where did you hear that, Mrs. Thornton Elkins?” Ruby burst into that discussion, leaving Lester Horton suspended in mid-story.

“On the telephone, dear,” Mrs. Thornton Elkins trilled in her fine thin voice. “You know, I just happened to pick up the receiver and overheard part of a dialogue between Mr. Dales and Mr. Doctor.”

“Smart as a whip, eh?” Miss Worly mused out loud. “Catchy expression, albeit a somewhat nonsensical one. For one must wonder, just how smart is a whip?”

Ruby noticed how, as often happened, all the separate conversations had merged into one, and everybody was tuned in to the same station now—Miss Worly and her words.

“I don't know how smart a whip is either,” Ruby said. “But I think Peter Reeder really is nice and smart.”

“Then you have met him, Ruby June?” said Judge Deel.

“Yeah, we walked around town together last night. And his granddaddy, too.”

“And how do they like our little town?” Mrs. Thornton Elkins asked.

“Fine. Peter's gonna fit right in,” Ruby said.

“What's the old man like?” asked Mr. Gentry.

“His name is Bird. He's kinda goofy, so I guess he'll fit right in, too.”

Friendly chuckles followed.

At the sound of the back screen door opening and closing, all eyes went to the dining room archway to see who would come through the kitchen.

Peter Reeder himself entered the dining room.

“Oh, excuse me!” he apologized, on finding the boarders eating breakfast. His face went red. “I didn't mean to intrude . . .”

“You're not intruding a'tall,” Ruby said as she went to him. “Didn't I tell you nobody has to knock at The Roost? Come to the table and have a bite with us.”

“No, thanks, I . . . I couldn't,” he mumbled, but his eyes passed with interest over the leavings on the table—bacon, a mound of scrambled eggs on a white platter, biscuits, a gravy bowl still half-full, a plate of sliced fruit, several jars of something rich and sweet, pitchers of milk and orange juice.

“Hey, everybody, this is Peter Reeder,” Ruby said to the boarders around the table.

Mrs. Thornton Elkins was the first to coax Peter. “Do come join us, young man. We have plenty.”

Miss Arbutus was already laying a clean plate for Peter beside Ruby's. She motioned for him to sit. Peter glanced at the friendly faces, smiled shyly, and moved toward the chair.

“Well, okay, thanks.”

Sensing that Peter was hungry, Ruby heaped his plate high without asking him what he wanted. As he dug in
with gusto, the other guests discreetly averted their eyes and picked at the remains of their food.

“Clean as a whistle!” Miss Worly was saying. “That's another term I have not heretofore examined. What could possibly be clean about a whistle, with all that spittle inside it?”

W
E'RE ALL OUT OF HONEY, AND
M
ISS
A
RBUTUS WANTS
you to go with me to Way Up That-a-Way and fetch some.”

Peter had finished nearly everything on the table, and the other guests had gone about their day. Now Ruby and Peter were drying dishes.

“Where to?” Peter said.

“To Way Up That-a-Way,” Ruby said, pointing a finger toward the back of the house. “That's what we call the place on the top of this mountain behind us. Granny Butler and her clan have a few acres up there. She keeps bees, and everybody buys her honey.”

“Okay, how do we get there?”

“There's a path that starts right behind The Roost. It takes a while to walk up there, but you'll like Granny Butler. She communicates with animals.”

“For real?” Peter said.

“Yes,” Ruby said. “She has knowledge nobody else
has because she understands their language, and they tell her stuff.”

“Would you say she's a bit pixilated?” Peter said.

“Pixilated?” Ruby did not know the word.

“That was one of Mama's words,” Peter said with a chuckle. “It means crazy, but Mama thought
pixilated
sounded much better.”

“It does,” Ruby agreed, “but I wouldn't call Granny Butler pixilated. I
would
call her an albino.”

“A what-o?”

“An albino is a person who was born without any skin pigment,” Ruby informed him. “So they have no color. Granny Butler had snow-white hair even when she was young, and her skin is pale, so she can't stand much sunlight. And her eyes are . . . well, they're kinda strange-looking. They're pinkish.”

“Pink eyes? No foolin'?”

“
Sorta
pink. She'll look queer to you at first, but she's so interesting, once you get to know her, why you won't even notice her appearance.”

As they spread their dish towels across the sink to dry, Miss Arbutus came out of the pantry with two burlap rucksacks. Each one had four homemade pockets, and tucked into the pockets were empty pint jars. Miss Arbutus strapped one of the packs across Ruby's back and the other across Peter's.

Miss Arbutus placed money into Ruby's hand, which Ruby tucked into her shorts pocket.

In the backyard Lester Horton was petting Jethro, but
the goat left him and darted to Ruby as soon as she appeared.

“I like your little beard,” Peter said as he gave the goat's whiskers a playful tug. “How come you're not standing on top of a car today?”

“He will as soon as he's left alone,” Lester said. “He'll climb up on the woodpile and step across the fence to the top of that Packard. He likes to watch people going to church.”

Then Ruby and Peter said goodbye to Lester and Jethro, went out the gate, and latched it behind them to keep the goat from following.

A wooden sign was staked into the ground where the path began.

WAY UP THAT-A-WAY ↑

The path wound before them, up across the face of the mountain, and disappeared into the trees beyond. The initial climb was very steep, and they didn't talk much, but instead concentrated on pulling themselves forward.

When the worst was over, Peter said, “When we got home last night, Bird told Daddy that he saw the girl who was eaten by the panther.”

Ruby laughed. “Was he still stuck on that?”

“Yeah, he was. But Daddy figured out what was bothering Bird. It seems he was remembering something that happened on Yonder Mountain a long, long time ago. There was a family living on the other side of the mountain
from us, who had a whole bunch of kids. In hot weather they laid quilts out on the front porch and let the little ones sleep there. Nobody dreamed that anything could happen to them. They didn't think there were any dangerous animals still stalking those hills.

“But one night the smallest girl—her name was Jolene—vanished from the porch. The dark just swallowed her up. The other children didn't see or hear a thing. A search party was organized, and they combed the area for days, but not a trace of her was to be found. Some people on the mountain said they heard a panther the very night the girl disappeared. Nobody had known of a panther being in those parts for over fifty years, but the people said they knew that's what it was because of the way it cried. A panther screams like a woman, you know.”

“I've heard tell that,” Ruby said.

“So everybody figured little Jolene had been devoured by a panther, just like Bird said last night.”

“How awful!” Ruby said, shivering in the bright sunlight.

“Yeah, I guess it really worried Bird. He had met the girl, and he never quite got over it. Maybe you reminded him of her in some way.”

They paused and looked down at the town below them, nestled in its pocket between the hills. Sure enough, at The Roost they could see Jethro standing on top of the Packard, probably chewing his cud, as he watched the people going to worship, some walking, some in cars.

“It looks like a picture in a storybook,” Peter said.

“Yes, it does,” Ruby agreed. “Did you know there's a treasure buried somewhere down there?”

“What kind of treasure?”

“A pirate's treasure. Gold doubloons and pieces of eight.”

“No kidding?”

“That's what Miss Arbutus told me. She's a direct descendant of the man who settled this town—Archibald Ward the first. He's the one who buried the treasure.”

As they continued their hike, church bells from the three churches in the valley began ringing. Almost immediately one dog in town started howling like an old hound hot on a trail. Following his lead, all the other dogs, one by one, began to howl as well. Their chorus grew so loud, you could barely make out the sound of the bells. Ruby and Peter looked at each other and smiled. The day felt good, perfect.

As they crossed over a treeless patch of the mountain, there were wildflowers growing by the path, and blackberry blossoms everywhere. Ruby thought it would be a dandy spot for a picnic next month during berry season.

“Don't you belong to a church?” Peter interrupted her thoughts.

“No, but I sometimes attend the services here or there. In warm weather I like to go to evening vespers,” Ruby said. “We meet outside under the stars. I love to sing out of doors in the dark. You can hear the voices echoing against the mountainside.”

The dogs had finally settled down, and Ruby and Peter paused to enjoy the bells.

“Speaking of echoes,” Peter said, “that name—you know the name Mr. A. H. Crawford said we should not mention? Well, I dreamed I was in a cave, and that name kept echoing off the walls. Where was he this morning? In his room writing?”

“No, he was sleeping,” Ruby said. “He hardly ever opens his eyes before noon. I think Mr. Crawford has missed a lot because he has never seen a sunrise.”

“Never?”

“
Probably
never. Sad people seem to need a lot of sleep.”

“How many hours do you think he sleeps?”

“It's hard to say,” Ruby said. “He gets up and goes to The Boxcar Grill for dinner, and he might take a nap before supper. He has a record player, and he plays the same sad song over and over. He goes to his room around nine or so at night. Then he probably reads for a while.”

“When does he write?” Peter wanted to know. “I'm anxious to read his book.”

Ruby shrugged and did not answer his question. Instead she said, “Miss Arbutus says that sleep is more important for the soul than for the body. She says when a person sleeps a lot like Mr. Crawford does, they are trying to work out their problems.”