Keeping Safe the Stars (9781101591215) Page 9

  “I won’t,” Nightingale said.

  “You promise?” I drew a cross over my chest, stood solid until Nightingale gave me that same sign.

  “You sure you don’t want to ride on Scout?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Nightingale wouldn’t put on clothes to go to town; one trip this week to Goodwell was enough for Nightingale. I picked up the letters, put them back in Old Finn’s drawer. They could wait there in the dark until I got done with all our business—Baby’s stitches, Wagner Drug, our tickets to Duluth.

  “I’ll stay,” Nightingale said. “Spend time with Miss Addie. Let her know her pills are on the way.”

  “Bring her down some cookies,” I said. “She can have them with her tea.” Miss Addie liked to take a tea at two.

  “We better hang the Closed sign,” Baby mumbled, half asleep. He rubbed his eyes, stretched out on Woody Guthrie. “We won’t be here to help.”

  “The Closed sign?” I groaned. “We haven’t made it yet.”

  “I will,” Nightingale said. “I’ll get it painted, then I’ll hang it on the tree.”

  “You’re sure?” I said. “But what if someone comes?”

  “If someone comes, I’ll hide out at Miss Addie’s.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You wait there for me.” It was exactly what Old Finn had said to us when he sent us to Miss Addie. Wait there. Only I was coming home.

  • • •

  Baby begged to ride alone on Scout, but instead I made him share a saddle on Atticus with me. I didn’t want him playing cowboy when we had to get to town. All the way to Goodwell, a steamy silver rain fog floated off the fields and small puddles pocked the road. It felt like we were traveling through Camelot—King Arthur’s once-enchanted kingdom—with the silver mist I pictured when Old Finn read the book. And here I was a Round Table knight with the special gift of courage, heading off to win another war. Or at least get my little brother to the doctor; Old Finn would say that took courage, too.

  “Not a day for riding,” Thor said when we rode up to his place. He’d stepped out on his front porch the minute we’d come into his yard. He must have had an ear for horses’ hooves. “Better day for staying home.”

  “Sky’s clear now; I think the rain is finished. We got to see a doctor at the clinic.”

  “Someone sick?” Thor asked, concerned.

  “I got stitches.” Baby pointed at his chin. “Twelve from trying to fly. And today I get them out.”

  “Fly, huh.” Thor laughed. “I think that’s for the birds. Airplanes maybe. You gotta grow some wings.”

  “I just use my arms.” Baby grinned. “Like Superman.” He shot his arms over his head. “I fly off the swing.”

  Thor laughed again. “I bet you keep your grandpa busy.”

  “He does.” I nudged my elbow into Baby’s back; I didn’t want him to say one word to Thor about Old Finn. “We got to hurry into town.”

  “I’m heading to the bank,” Thor said. “Let me take you young ones into town. I don’t much like to see you walking on that highway. Especially with rain.”

  “We keep to the ditch,” I said, but I was ready for a ride. I didn’t want to walk down that wet highway with cars and trucks splashing puddles as they passed. One trip to town in Thor’s truck wasn’t going to hurt.

  Thor hoisted Baby off the saddle. “Wouldn’t be much of a neighbor if I didn’t lend a hand.”

  • • •

  We weren’t long in Thor’s truck before he asked about Old Finn. I reached down low and gave Baby’s leg a little pinch. “Haven’t seen him much these days,” Thor said. “His truck still on the fritz?”

  “Fritz?” Baby laughed.

  “I think it means it’s broken,” I said. I’d rather talk about a word than tell Thor another lie.

  “Does indeed.” Thor nodded. “So everything all right out at your place?” He’d asked the same already, yesterday, when I talked about the Greyhound to Duluth. He might have asked the day I bought the eggs. I could tell he didn’t believe the part about the truck.

  “Old Finn likes it out at Eden,” Baby blurted. “He stays there all day.”

  Thor made a little snort. “I sure do get a kick out of that name. Pretty fancy name for forty acres.”

  “Eden’s where the world began,” Baby said. “Before the trouble all got started.”

  “I’ve heard that myself.” Thor gave a little chuckle. “And I don’t know who’d want Duluth when you have Eden. Duluth’s a busy place—has its share of riffraff.”

  “Duluth?” Baby said, surprised. I pinched again.

  “We just like that great big lake,” I said. “Superior.”

  “Ain’t you got a pond out at your place?” Thor asked like I hadn’t told the truth. “And we got Lake Louise right here in Goodwell. Three more fish holes down the road. Ten thousand lakes in Minnesota, don’t take a bus ride to Duluth to look at water.”

  I sat there for a minute in the silence hoping Thor would find another subject; I didn’t have a better reason for going to Duluth.

  “So your grandpa couldn’t take you to the clinic?” Thor kept his eyes steady on the road, his bony hands against the wheel. I was glad he wasn’t watching me for lies.

  “Not today,” I said. “He’s been busy out at Eden.”

  “Tending to that pony?” Thor asked.

  “Scout?” Baby said, surprised.

  “I saw the signs,” Thor said. “Followed all those bright red arrows, saw they pointed to your place. ‘Pony rides and popcorn.’” He wheezed a little laugh.

  “And souvenirs,” Baby said. “We’re selling ours just like they do at Deerland. And we got cookies for a nickel each. Pride can make you coffee if you want.”

  “Pride?” Thor asked.

  “Oops!” Baby slapped his hand over his mouth. “I mean Kathleen. Kathleen. Her name isn’t Pride. Kathleen makes the coffee.” Baby better not be blabbing at the clinic, otherwise I’d have to take him home and leave the stitches in until Old Finn could handle it himself. “And today we sold two bowls of Sugar Smacks.”

  “That sweet cereal you just bought at the Need-More?” Thor gave a glance at me. It had only been a couple of days since Thor had packed it in our seed sack.

  “Your grandpa got you selling off your groceries?” Thor asked. None of this made sense for Old Finn. A terrible blush burned over my face. My cheeks itched. I wanted Baby to be quiet.

  “He doesn’t mind,” I said.

  “Thought he preferred his privacy. Never knew he’d let those strangers on his place.”

  “It’s just for a few days,” I said. I knew Thor wouldn’t believe me if I said Old Finn had changed.

  “Just so you know.” Thor nodded. “Hard times can hit us all.”

  26

  SOMEONE HERE TO HELP

  We’d never seen the doctor who took out Baby’s stitches; every visit to the clinic we’d seen grumpy Dr. Clark. The brand-new Dr. Madden was young and tall and happy—making jokes with Baby, and asking me what I liked to learn in school. Through it all, Baby sat brave on the table, and I watched Dr. Madden work his tools the way I watched Old Finn carve. I’d never have Old Finn’s patience with a chisel, but I could see myself using tweezers to coax out some stubborn stitches or pressing that cold stethoscope against a person’s heart. Strong and sure at work like Dr. Madden. Maybe I could start out as a candy striper, grow up to be a doctor, get my own white coat.

  “So your grandpa couldn’t be here?” Dr. Madden opened Baby’s chart, wrote something on the paper, same thing the nurse did when I visited St. John’s. “And he’s your legal guardian?” he asked, like Old Finn wasn’t quite fit for that job. Old Finn always said folks were suspicious of a man his age all alone with kids; it’s why the county school woman asked so many questions and why peop
le nosed into our business when we were shopping in a store. Old Finn said if he had been a woman less people would have asked.

  “He is,” I said. “It’s all cleared through the courts.” I’d heard Old Finn say the same.

  “But he’s not here today?” Dr. Madden asked.

  “He’s out on a delivery,” I said.

  He nodded, wrote another couple words. “Are you often left alone?”

  “No,” Baby said. “Old Finn’s mostly with us.”

  “Old Finn?” Dr. Madden grinned at Baby. “That your grandpa’s name?”

  “No,” I said. “Not really.” I didn’t want Baby speaking for himself. “Michael Finnegan.” I knew that much was already in the chart. “Baxter says Old Finn.”

  “Not just me,” Baby insisted.

  “Do we have to pay today?” I asked. I only had $4.25, and I still had Miss Addie’s medicine to buy.

  “I’m sure we’ll send a bill.” Dr. Madden spun his rolling stool to face me. “So how old are you, Kathleen?”

  “Fourteen,” I said. Maybe I could be a candy striper in his office; I was tall enough to look fourteen.

  “Thirteen,” Baby said.

  “Thirteen, then I’m fourteen.”

  “Thirteen, fourteen.” Dr. Madden shrugged. “Still, a girl your age shouldn’t be worried about paying doctor bills.” He opened up his drawer and pulled out a jar of suckers. “Take your pick,” he said to Baby, then he held it out to me. “Thirteen’s not too old to eat a sucker?”

  “No,” I said. I chose a pink one, watermelon, my favorite sucker flavor, but I didn’t get it much. Except for holidays and birthdays, Old Finn didn’t buy candy for the cabin.

  “Well, Baxter . . .” He started to hoist Baby from the table, but Baby mostly jumped, landed hard on the heels of his boots. “So, you’re sure you got hurt flying?” I didn’t know why he asked about the flying; there wasn’t any other way Baby would get stitches on his chin.

  “Yep,” Baby said.

  “Must be a big job for your grandpa, taking care of kids. Three kids.” He said it like Baby’s stitches were really Old Finn’s fault. He gave another glance at Baby’s chart. “It’s a big job for my wife and me, and we’ve only got our daughter.”

  “Old Finn’s a good guardian,” I said. Dr. Madden made it sound like Old Finn wasn’t fit to do the job. Old Finn kept us closer than Mama ever did. Sometimes at Serenity we didn’t see Mama before bedtime; at Eden, Old Finn was always near.

  “But Baxter’s sure been hurt a lot. An ankle sprain. A broken arm. A deep cut on his finger. And twice, he’s had stitches from a fall?” Every one of those was Baby’s being reckless: Baby jumping off the fence; Baby flying; Baby racing down the path and tripping on a rock; Baby leaping off a tree branch. There wasn’t much Old Finn could do to slow him down. “Are you left in charge a lot?”

  “Me?” I said. I didn’t like the way he asked it. Was Dr. Madden blaming me for Baby’s wild streak? Old Dr. Clark didn’t ask us all these questions; he just stuck the needle in my arm, or made me open up my mouth and give an “aaahhh.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Just today?” Dr. Madden stared at me.

  “Just today,” I answered back as best I could. There wasn’t much for me to say these days but lies.

  He ran his thumb along the red scar on Baby’s chin. “You know we’re here to help,” he said to Baby. “If you’re not feeling safe. Or bad things start to happen.”

  “He’s safe,” I said. Nothing bad was happening to Baby; nothing ever would. No one kept us safer than Old Finn. Old Finn teaching us our lessons at the table, making sure every meal was on time. Old Finn, who never lost his temper with our messes. Old Finn, who read to us before we went to sleep—a thing Mama quit back when we were small.

  “But you kids don’t go to school?” he asked. “I read that in your chart.”

  “Old Finn teaches us at home,” Baby said. “I’m on my letters now.”

  “At any rate, a home visit might be helpful, considering the circumstances. Someone from social services could assess your situation. Sometimes when kids are too far out of a system—”

  “We’re not out of a system,” I said. “Old Finn has a system for our school. And we’re learning every day. Old Finn’s already got us doing fractions. And ancient Greece. Nouns and verbs and adverbs. Poetry and spelling. Plus we have to read a book a week. Write long compositions Old Finn corrects with his red pen. And this summer we’ve been studying the plants. Photosynthesis and stamens.” Big words I had to memorize although I didn’t understand a lick of either one. I wished Nightingale were here to tell how much Old Finn taught.

  “Still,” he said, “someone should stop by.”

  Old Finn would never want these social people at our cabin. And they couldn’t come with Old Finn sick in Duluth.

  “We’re going on vacation,” I said. “We’ll be gone three weeks.” It was another lie that popped out of my mouth. Maybe that was how things went wrong for Richard Nixon, lie after lie, because it was easier than telling folks the truth.

  “I’ll let them know,” he said, like he didn’t trust me. When I got to be a doctor, I wouldn’t pester kids with stupid questions. “In the meantime . . .” He pulled a little card out of his drawer. “Here’s the number to the clinic. You kids run into trouble, you just give a call.” He turned it over, wrote a second number on the back. “After hours, you just dial me directly. Anytime you need it, there’s someone here to help.”

  27

  HOW BROKEN MY HEART

  I didn’t tell Nightingale about Dr. Madden and his number or that he made me buy a tube of Neosporin that cost ninety-seven cents or that I’d found out the Greyhound bus left the Lucky Strike every morning at 7:20, but the tickets to Duluth were $1.80 each. Instead, I put Miss Addie’s brand-new pills into her little plastic holder, two in each compartment, fourteen for the week, and tried not to think of Dr. Madden sending someone to our house.

  “Bless you, Pride,” Miss Addie said. She gave my hand a little pat. “At my age, I can’t keep track of what I’ve taken.”

  “You just take today,” I said. “Tuesday. Tomorrow you take Wednesday.”

  “When is Old Finn coming home?” she said. Miss Addie looked like she needed more than pills, more than bologna and Velveeta. “Did they tell you at St. John’s?”

  “He’s in Duluth now,” I said, but Miss Addie should know that.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “In Duluth. But why’d he go so far away?”

  “His brain,” I said, but I wasn’t quite so sure. I’d find out more when we saw him at St. Mary’s. But I couldn’t tell that last part to Miss Addie; she’d never let us take the Greyhound to Duluth. “Here.” I put one little pill into her palm. The pharmacist had told me Miss Addie ought to skip the morning dose she missed, take one pill today instead of two. I hoped one missing pill wouldn’t make her sick. “You want me to bring you supper?”

  “Is it SpaghettiOs again?” Baby moaned.

  “I can fry up some potatoes,” I said. “Scramble eggs with onion. Add a little cheese.”

  Baby wrinkled up his nose. “Pancakes?” he asked. “Can you make me pancakes, Pride? With chocolate chips?”

  “Fried potatoes would be lovely,” Miss Addie said. “I don’t know where we’d be without you, Pride.”

  • • •

  “The tickets are a dollar and eighty cents each,” I told Nightingale on our way home along the wood path. Baby had already raced ahead; Baby never walked if he could run.

  “That means we’d need five dollars and forty cents for the three of us to go into Duluth,” Nightingale said, but I’d already done the numbers in the dirt. Come up with the answer on my own. “And we only have four dollars, twenty-five cents left.”

  “Had,”
I said. “We’re down a dollar. I had to buy a tube of Neosporin to help Baby’s stitches heal.” I didn’t bother adding in the three pennies back in change. “But I didn’t have to pay for the doctor or Miss Addie’s pills. They’ll bill the house for both. And by then Old Finn will be well to pay those bills.”

  “Three dollars, twenty-five cents,” Nightingale said. “That’s not enough for tickets.”

  “We can make that up tomorrow.” We had the pony rides and popcorn, the souvenirs, a batch of oatmeal cookies, a few more bowls of Sugar Smacks to sell. Maybe someone new would ask for coffee.

  “I don’t know.” Nightingale sighed. “What if we can’t make it on our own? Or never make it to Duluth to see Old Finn? What if we’re just left here for the winter when the tourists don’t come?”

  “It doesn’t help to think the worst.” I didn’t want Nightingale to worry over winter. It was August; sweat was sliding down my skin. “He’ll be well by winter.”

  I was already worn out from Nash and Sage, the visit to the doctor, Thor’s ride into town. “Right now,” I said, “let’s just get our supper fixed.”

  • • •

  Nightingale peeled potatoes; Baby beat the eggs and milk. I mixed up the pancakes, fried them on the griddle until both sides toasted golden brown. I melted down brown sugar for our syrup, stacked the steaming pancakes on a plate. While we ate, Miss Addie’s supper stayed warm in our oven, the fried potatoes turning soft as oatmeal from the oil. When we’d finally finished eating, Nightingale and Baby took Miss Addie her warm supper while I stayed behind to get the dishes washed.

  It wasn’t just the dishes that kept me at the cabin, it was Justine’s letters waiting in the drawer. When I was lost in news of France and painters, bread and chocolate, I didn’t have to think of Thor or Nash or Dr. Madden or a social-someone visit or earning money or what we’d do another week from now. For some strange reason, the letters made me picture Old Finn safe. Safe and loved. Handsome in his plaid shirt and his jeans. Happy here at Eden. Not far off with a fever, gone to some strange hospital for trouble with his brain.