

Mystery

At The Hot Pond

David DeVowe
Copyright © 2015 David DeVowe

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-0692525616

DEDICATION

Thank you to my Creator, who makes His hand visible.

And who has made us all—bearers of His image.

And to my wife, Carolyn for her loving support.

Contents

  1. The Different Kid

  2. Keeping My Distance

  3. A Parade Like No Other

  4. A Box Called Home

  5. The Worst Day of My Life

  6. No End of It

  7. Intruders

  8. A New Friend

  9. The Mystery of MaryAnne

  10. Arrested

  11. Undercover

  12. Witness

  13. A Visit to MaryAnne's

  14. Problem at the Parade

  15. Turmoil

  16. Justice Served

Epilogue

Letter from the Author

Next book in the Greatest Treasure series

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cover design: Michael DeVowe Creative Works

Cover illustration: Hannah Firezar

Cover photo: Dennis Jarvis

1

The Different Kid

You could see she wouldn't last the moment the door creaked open. Teacher stopped mid-sentence as every head in fifth grade turned to the back of the room. She stood there with a curious look on her face, head held high. High, I suppose, for somebody that short. I guessed she was probably no taller than my nose. Something was different about her, though I wasn't sure what it was. I wouldn't have said she was pretty; no girls were pretty. But this girl surely was different.

Different isn't very much welcome at Stoney Creek. And it's a big deal here 'cause new kids don't come to our school much. Terry Nuckols was the different kid the first day I started fourth grade. He punched the Johnson boys right in the face at morning recess. It was the only time I saw a pair of bloody noses. Terry didn't get to lunch 'cause he got expelled for swinging at the teacher. I never saw him after that.

Different doesn't last long at Stoney Creek, either, and that was just as well with me. 'Cause I didn't much like when things were different.

Stoney Creek is where I was born. Well, actually, I was born in our house, only a stone's throw from the creek. Not much changes here. And I kinda liked the way things were. Mr. Kingman was always there when the post office opened. Lawrence Blankenshine kept to himself, walking the main road at night. Sometimes I would catch him talking to a pole, maybe even waving at a tree.

It was bad enough change when Ricky was born. He started talking the first time he got done nursin' offa Mama. Now being four, he's kinda pesky, keeping the house overflowing with words.

Ricky was just about as much different as I could tolerate. He made it so I didn't mind havin' to run to the market for Mama, which meant I had to pass by old Mrs. Krebbs' house. That's if I didn't want to take the long way around. She's one of them ladies that's all wrinkled up with a screechy way of telling ya that something good just happened. "Bless you, son," she'd say. "God made some beautiful flowers last night!" I think something's wrong with her. But she's always been that way; never any different. And not being different—like I said, that's just as well with me.

MaryAnne DuPree was about to change all that. Never had a new kid come to Stoney Creek smack in the middle of winter. As I watched her standing in the doorway in her long brown coat and gentle half-smile, no one could have told me just how different my tomorrow would be.

2

Keeping My Distance

Friday had started just like any other. "Hey," Ricky said as he jumped up on my bed. "Look! See what I got?"

I opened one eye to the face of a mouse with dried blood on its nose.

"It's a mouse. But he's dead now. Me and Oscar catched it in the woodshed tomorrow. I sure do like mouses."

"Ricky, do you always wake up talking? Why can't you just be like a normal kid? Just once!" Ricky didn't know pretend from real or tomorrow from yesterday. But two things were always sure with Ricky—that you could find him caring for some critter to death, and that Mama would never have to wake me for school.

Oscar was lying at the bottom of the stairs when I came down. He always laid there, wagging his tail for me in the morning. Oscar was my best friend. Dad brought him home for me in a crumpled box just after I turned eight. He was the best surprise ever—and it was the last time I cried. Mama named him Oscar 'cause she said she liked that name. It wore on me, and Oscar and I never separated. Except when I had to go to school.

Mama stirred something in the pan. Probably scrambling eggs before she scrambled me off to class. "Mornin', Shoe."

"Morn." That's what she calls me, Shoe. That's what anybody who knows me calls me—even Dad. Everyone at the mill knows Dad's son is Shoe. That's just how it is at Stoney Creek. Folks say that's just how it is in the whole UP of Michigan. Most people go by a nickname. If you don't have one, you're probably from somewhere else.

"All set for school today?" Mama prodded.

"No."

"No!? Why not?"

"We got a new kid in class yesterday and Mrs. LeMarche put her in my row—right in front of me."

"And what's wrong with that?" Mama wondered as she piled my plate with eggs.

"Well, we never had a new kid smack in the middle of the year—comin' on a Thursday? Who does that? Besides, it was just fine with Mark in front of me. Now I got a girl. And she's just..."

"Just what?"

"She's just.... DIFFERENT!"

"Now, Shoe, honey."

I cringed every time Mama said that. I've been Shoe ever since I can remember. But HONEY?! O-o-o-of!

Mama didn't understand how nice things were once you got used to them, like having Mark sit in front of my desk. Just turning the calendar last week to the year 1924 was about enough change for me. But Mama is one of them who likes things different than they were yesterday. Always tacking something new she cut out from the paper on the wall. Changing the nut bowl that sits in the middle of the table. Same un-cracked nuts, just a different bowl. Mama calls it "sprucin' up."

Dad's not like that. He works at the mill stacking lumber—has been ever since longer than I can know. Dad is sure to be wearing the same coveralls he had on yesterday. And he'll smell like fresh-cut balsam when he walks in the door after work.

"Mama, I wish you hadn't brought her up."

"I brought her up? I simply asked if you were ready for school!" Mama said, as she scrubbed the countertop for the second time. "Now hurry it up and eat or you'll be late for class."

I usually ran atop the snowbanks on the way to school. Not today. I scuffed along, thinking about my bad day ahead—sitting at my desk, new kid in my way. I kicked pieces of ice along the edge of the road just to make the walk last longer.

It didn't work. I smacked a brown chunk of ice just as I turned the corner past the Co-op. It left the ground a bit, flew sharply through the air, and caught the hem of a dress peering out below a long brown coat.

It was her. Mary. That's what the teacher called her. Mary... something.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she spun around to spy who had targeted her. "Hi! You're the boy that thits behind me. Glad to thsee we walk the thsame way to thschool!"

I offered a fake smile and looked around for another chunk of ice. I had been right. She was different. How had her tongue got tangled up like that? I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was shorter, too. Every other girl in class was taller than me. Most everyone was taller than me. But not her.

Just then Brady took notice. He's one of the Fister boys; the eighth-grader everyone steers clear of. Brady leaned up against the lamppost in front of INO's bar, hands in his back pockets. "Hey, Shoe, got yourself a g-i-r-l-friend?"

I steered my eyes to the ground and kept walkin'. The best thing to do around a Fister is to keep walkin'. She stayed with me while we put some distance between us and Brady's wrath.

Once out of earshot, she continued, "I'm MaryAnne. That's MaryAnne with an 'e'—MaryAnne DuPree."

No one I knew had two first names.

"That boy back there called you Shoe. Is that your real name, like shoesth?"

"It's what everyone calls me," I replied curtly.

She paused for a long moment. Which was nice. "That's cute," she said. "I like shoesth. I have brown one-ths that I wear when spring come-ths. And then I have these. They're riding booths, you know. I only ride when I see Grandpa, which won't be for a long time, but thsomeday, good Lord willing, I think I shall have my own horths and then I'll wear my riding booths for more than just walking."

I thought MaryAnne would be a great friend for Ricky. She and Ricky could share lots of words. I said nothing, and continued kicking pieces of ice as we got closer to school. Thankfully the weathered, grey building took shape in the distance, with smoke rising lazily from the stack at its middle. The promise of a warm stove beckoned me to move quickly as the morning chill nipped my face.

I managed to shake MaryAnne by ducking into the privy before we got to the front door. No one should see me come in with a girl. Especially a short, red-headed freckle-face that couldn't talk right. I got into class without having to answer to anyone. The kids were all seated, and Mrs. LeMarche was writing something on the board.

Just as I slid my books in the cubby under my desktop, MaryAnne flung her long red hair back at me with both hands. Never trust a girl with red hair! She holds a grudge against everyone who's normal. What was that smell? Mark had always shared an aroma of the barn that he did his morning chores in. I was used to it. But this smelled stronger; something like ... soap. Did she bathe in Fels-Naptha? Saturday evening was soap enough for me, but now I was to suffer it all day? Not if I could help it!

Suddenly teacher rang her bell. "Class! Open your arithmetic to page 57. We will be working our long division again today."

Long division in a bathtub. How I wished for a pair of snowshoes and a rabbit trail. And for Oscar. My eyes wandered out one of the two windows facing the road. Pondering a way of escape, I scooted my desk back a bit to ease the smell until I could find a means to dash out into some fresh, cold air. Black cast-iron toes on the feet of my desk screeched the boards below.

Mrs. LeMarche hadn't noticed.

Pretending to study long division, I scooted back a bit more, hoping teacher wouldn't hear. She didn't. She was one of them ladies with gray hair all twirled up in a shape that saves on hats. Some said that was style. It made me wonder who she was doing that for, bein' a widow and all. I heard Dad say that teacher's husband died from the top of a tree that busted and hung up there until Mr. LeMarche stood just below. That's why them hanging branches are called widow makers. Teacher knows.

But that was a long time ago. And she's still Mrs. LeMarche with lots of gray hair and ears that don't hear too good.

Math dragged on as it did every morning. I was daydreaming about a rabbit snare when teacher looked up and glared straight at my desk. I hadn't done anything. She rose to her feet, glared at me and twirled her beads. Mrs. LeMarche wore white beads every day. We always knew when our test scores weren't good or when she was upset about something else 'cause she would start twirling, as if cinching that necklace tighter would ease the pain.

Mrs. LeMarche twirled her beads and headed straight for the back of the room. "Mr. Arthur Makinen!" she snarled, making her last step to the side of my desk louder than all the others combined. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

She glared at the floor in front of me then riveted her eyes back on mine as I slowly slid down in my seat. I made a quick guess that she was asking about the distance I had put between me and MaryAnne's perfume. The generous space would have been greater except for the back wall. "Just my arithmetic, ma'am," I replied quietly.

"I'm talking about your desk! Why have you pushed your desk all the way back here?"

I didn't know what to say except for letting her know why I had gotten there. "Well, ma'am, the smell from the new girl was too much for my nose and I couldn't think straight to do long division like you said." Someone snickered. Every kid in class glared at me and Mrs. LeMarche. Them beads were almost choking her.

"Arthur, go stand in the corner, and don't let your nose leave the wall!"

I'd seen lots of kids stand in the front corner. There was Ernie. It seemed like he was always in the front corner. I kinda felt sorry for him 'cause he was embarrassed most all the time. But I had never stood in the corner, never having been in real trouble; not in school.

This bad dream Friday worked itself into a nightmare as I walked past MaryAnne's desk, ready to offer up a sneer. Her pencil laid straight across long division, already complete. She didn't even look at me. Snickering from the other kids tortured my thoughts as I reached the front corner, pressing my nose into a crack of musty wood.

How could this have happened? Yesterday things were normal. I missed the smell of Mark's cow dung. And I missed him asking me how to do arithmetic. It was some comfort to know that different doesn't last long at Stoney Creek, and neither would MaryAnne.

After forever was about done, teacher announced, "Mr. Makinen, you will stay after school and write on the board 100 times, 'I will not misbehave in class.' "

I stole a glance toward teacher's desk.

"Turn back around, young man," she snarled. "You have another 20 minutes before spelling begins." Mrs. LeMarche was still twirling.

My mind was twirling, too. I dreaded writing, but I dreaded more what was coming to me from Dad when I got home late from school.

3

#  A Parade Like No Other

Let's just say that the switch I picked from the back of the woodshed wasn't big enough for Dad. The last time I got the switch was when I put a dead fish down the Johnson's privy. Their privy never smelt so good. I was just helping the neighbor. Somehow Mr. Johnson and Dad figured out it was me when even the Gustafs across the alley couldn't take it no more. Dad let me choose my own switch then. It's never good when Dad picks the switch.

Dad is mostly good to me. He is one of them that I can count on to be the same tomorrow as today. After sipping coffee each morning he kisses Mama just above her left eye before walking to the mill. On Sundays he sees us to church. Me and Ricky don't like it much. The best part is when I get to ring the bell. And the next best part is when church is over. That's when Oscar greets me on the porch just under the bell tower. Most everybody greets him, too, especially Mrs. Krebbs. "Good morning, Oscar. Did you hear a good word from the Lord today?" She even preaches to a dog, but it don't irk him like it irks me.

I know Dad means well by taking us on Sundays. He doesn't say much; mostly good things when he does. And I never heard him swear.

The only time I knew Dad got really upset was last July just before the mill shut down. At Stoney Creek everything stops for the parade. Even the sawblades. It's kinda eerie. Then we all line the dusty road to watch the wagons roll by. And Mrs. Hawthorne's yellow hat with the blue feather sticking out the side.

The Hawthornes owned the only Columbia Touring Car in town, and they let all of Stoney Creek know about it every Fourth of July. Not like we can't hear the rumble on Sunday afternoons. Mr. Hawthorne is sure to be smoking his biggest cigar on one side of his mouth and grinning a few teeth on the other. There will be one hand on the wheel and one very large arm on the door. It's always the same. The yellow hat with the blue feather will be riding atop Mrs. Hawthorne while she waves at all the young guys from town. I think she likes that attention. The rest of us common folk walk or jump a wagon when we're lucky. But the Hawthornes are sure to show off their shiny red automobile with the same sign hanging from the radiator cap every year 'Hawthorne's Mill at Stoney Creek'. Folks who don't know that the Hawthornes own most of town must be from somewhere else.

The only thing the Hawthornes don't show for Independence Day is Buffalo Alice. That's 'cause she don't show so well.

Alice is the Hawthorne's only kid, who we see a lot of now since this is her second try at fifth grade. That means she's bigger than all of us. She's bigger than sixth grade, too. I don't know who first called her Buffalo, maybe that kid is dead. Most call her "Buffy." I don't call her nothin'. Buffalo's Mama doesn't let her ride in the auto on Independence Day 'cause there's too much of her to show and we can all see that.

Still, we watch the parade with anticipation, and every time it's pretty much the same. Except last year.

All July Dad was upset 'cause of what happened to the Stueck brothers. We got woken up three nights before the parade by a frantic pounding on the back door. Mrs. Johnson pushed her way through as Dad turned the doorknob.

"The Stueck boys are...dead," she stammered.

"Dead!?" Dad exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Johnson wiped her face with a handkerchief she had pulled from her sleeve while catching her breath. "Lawrence found Dietrich floating in the hot pond after dark. My Jim and some others went to find Gunther but he wasn't home. They pulled him from the far end of the pond not more than an hour ago. If it weren't for Lawrence, there's no telling when the boys might have been found."

Mrs. Johnson's eyes bulged from her bright-red face. I knew she spoke about Lawrence Blankenshine, the one who's always walking the roads. Folks say he was a great kid until he drank a bad brew some years back, and now he talks to poles and waves at trees. Most of the time I can't tell what he's saying.

"No one would have missed them after their shift since they live together," Mrs. Johnson continued. "How they both could have drowned is beyond me. Oh, Lord, have mercy!"

Dad leaned hard against the wall. "It doesn't sound like coincidence," he contemplated. "We've had plenty fall in, but never a drowning."

"Are you suggesting someone...? Oh, heaven forbid!" Mrs. Johnson exclaimed.

Dietrich and Gunther were log rollers at the mill. After the chaser dropped logs from the train into the mill pond, one of the Stueck boys rode them on foot, pushing them from the mill pond into the hot pond with a pole. In the hot pond, the Stuecks pushed one log at a time onto the bull chain that yanked 'em out of the water and up onto the cutting cradle. The Stuecks were good. I never saw them fall, but Gunther had wet pants a couple times. That made me try rolling logs. I was under the biting cold water in a hurry. I should have rolled in the hot pond but would have been sure to get caught by the rearing crew.

Dad suddenly went to the other room, came back in his work clothes, and then slammed the door as he left the house.

I didn't sleep much then. Thinking about Dietrich and Gunther and what happened at the hot pond. It was deep in the night when Dad got home. I could make out angry words through the floor vent as Dad spoke rapidly to Mama downstairs. Dad had never sounded that way to me. I spent the rest of the night hearing tree toads and Ricky's snoring. Neither of which knew what had just happened.

Oscar was surprised by me being up so early the next morning. He wagged lazily and slobbered my big toe. I was sitting at the kitchen table when Dad came through.

He sighed heavily as he sat down in his chair. "Those were some good boys," Dad said as he stared into his cup. "A couple of real good boys . . ." his voice drifted off. Dad kissed Mama above the eye that day but his coffee went untouched. He was awfully quiet after that for nigh two weeks.

And so the parade was different last summer. Most everyone brought their long faces. Even the county sheriff. I had only seen the sheriff once before, when INO's bar got robbed. So having him at the parade, opposite our family, arms folded across the tight shirt over his belly, pistol on his hip; that made for a different independence. I hardly noticed the Gustaf's red ribbon draped clear 'round their wagon. Or Mrs. Hawthorne's yellow hat.

4

A Box Called Home

By the time MaryAnne had messed up the school year there was little talk of the Stueck brothers. Brady insisted that Dietrich fell in, hit his head, and Gunther died trying to rescue him. Nobody was going to argue with Brady Fister. Dad said that didn't explain Gunther being found at the other end of the pond. All of Stoney Creek was split on it, but most sided with the Hawthornes who were very saddened by the tragedy at the mill. Dad said Mr. Hawthorne spared no expense with the funeral, and the sheriff recorded it as an accident.

Seven months had passed. February dumped the kinda snow that makes winter fun. I had set four weasel traps near some of the old barns on the outer edge of Red Town. Not too far out, else I would have a long hike on snowshoes. Red Town was a bunch of houses up on the hill overlooking Stoney Creek. We called it Red Town 'cause, except for the Hawthorne's place, all of the houses were red. Same as the barns. Must have been all the paint they had. Checking my traps made the end of the school day that much better, even though I only had two weasels so far.

The beginning of school was better, too—now that I figured out when to walk to school when MaryAnne wasn't. I also kept my distance at recess. One blustery afternoon, Mrs. LeMarche let us out early. I headed straight for home and Oscar. And a shovel. The weasels could wait, 'cause me and Oscar were going to make a fort. In no time I covered the road between the schoolhouse and the depot while covering one side of my face with a mitten to save me from the wind. Then a voice pierced through the gusts: "Shoesth! Hey, Shoesth! Wait for me!"

No mistaking MaryAnne. I kept fighting the wind.

"Shoesth, why didn't you wait?" MaryAnne said as she caught up.

"I'm not a pair of shoes," I stated firmly, still hiding my face. "My name is Shoe."

"I know," she replied.

I pulled my mitten away to glare inside her hood.

She looked back with a half-smile, squinted her eyes and said, "I like Shoesth better."

I blocked the wind and MaryAnne with my mitten again. MaryAnne was another reason Oscar was my best friend. Oscar with his long brown hair, floppy ears, and eager tail, never called me names and never talked back. When I got home, he would be happy to see me, bounding for joy at the sight of the shovel and another chance to leap at snow flying through the air. Oscar loves making forts.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" MaryAnne pried.

"Make a snow fort with Oscar."

"Oh fun! Who's Oscar? Is he your friend?"

"My best friend," I answered selectively. MaryAnne had a way of asking more than one question at a time. I simply picked the one I wanted.

"How come I don't know him?" she pondered, while I waited for the next question. "Can I help?"

MaryAnne wasn't making many friends I guessed. That's why she kept after me. She began to wear on me like Ernie standing in the corner during class. Eventually I felt sorry for him, and now I felt sorry for her. I was sure Oscar wouldn't mind. And who would know, in a blizzard like this, that a girl helped dig a fort?

"Yeah," I said.

That's all she needed. "Oh good! I know your house. I'll run home to tell Dad and I'll be back in a jiffy!"

She wasn't kiddin'. I was still shoveling the walk, with Oscar leaping at every toss, when MaryAnne came around the corner. I dangled the garden shovel at her before she got too close. It was the only other shovel we had. One for snow. One for dirt. I found it hanging in the shed with dirt froze on it from digging spuds last fall. "We're going to dig a hole in that bank right there," I instructed.

I finished shoveling the walk, then went over to MaryAnne to help. MaryAnne hadn't done much. I paused for emphasis, looking at the snowbank while scratching Oscar's ear.

"Where's Oscar?" MaryAnne asked as she scraped the snowbank with her shovel.

I looked down at my dog, pressing his head into the side of my leg.

"Oscar is a dog!?"

"Yup, he's a dog all right."

MaryAnne shook her head and frowned. "You told me he was your friend."

"My best friend."

MaryAnne thought for a moment as she scowled at Oscar. "I have a question."

"Thanks for the warning," I murmured as I heaved on a large block of snow.

"Why is your name Shoe? Why don't they call you Arthur—that's your real name?"

MaryAnne always pried, wanting to know personal stuff—like my name. Why couldn't she just leave well enough alone—like folks do at Stoney Creek? Oscar panted puffs of steam in my eyes while I bent over on the next scoop. "You really want to know?" I asked, figuring it to be a dumb question.

"Yes, I do. Shoe is a funny name. I mean not funny-funny, actually I like it, but I want to know how you got a name like that."

I contemplated what I should tell her. "Well . . . I was little when I was born," I started carefully. "Ma said I came too early and just fit into the palm of Doc's hand. He said I'd be dead by morning. Mama didn't believe it, so she kept me warm all night. The next day I was still livin'. After a time, Mama put me in an old shoe box on the floor beside the wood stove where it was warm. Mama said that was my home for three weeks. She did her chores and cooking and things, and fed me every hour, set on proving the doctor wrong. Well, she done it. And here I am, smaller than most, but bigger than the box Mama nursed me in. Someone started callin' me Shoe and the name stuck." MaryAnne looked at me like I just dropped in from Wisconsin. "Now are you going to shovel or just stand there with eyes like saucers?" I demanded, attempting to jar her from her stupor.

"Wow," MaryAnne sighed as she gazed into a white blanket of snow. "God must have a special plan for you, Shoesth. You don't mind that I call you Shoesth, do you? I mean, God must have a very big plan for you to be living. He has a reason for all of us, you know. Do you know what yours is yet?"

I didn't find any question to answer in that. Insisting on calling me Shoes. Asking about God. Instead, I ventured one back at her, "Why did you come to Stoney Creek smack in the middle of the school year?"

"Oh, because my dad got transferred," MaryAnne offered without hesitation. "His new job was here and it started right after Christmas. We move around a lot. I don't mind, I guess. Then I get to meet new people—like you."

"My dad has stacked lumber at the mill ever since I can remember. What's your dad do that you have to move all the time?" I wondered out loud.

MaryAnne actually started digging in the bank and continued her conversation. "He has a paperwork job doing insurance or something. I don't know exactly," she said, and then stopped shoveling again to look back at me. "But it sounds really boring!" she emphasized with one eyebrow.

Suddenly a call came down the alley beyond the woodshed, "MaryAnne! MaryAnne!"

"Oh, it's Daddy," said MaryAnne with a hint of disappointment. "Must be time to be fixing supper." MaryAnne dropped the shovel where she stood, then turned to run off.

"About my name," I interjected.

"Gotta go! See you tomorrow, Shoesth!"

5

The Worst Day of My Life

The wind howled well into the night, piling snow to the screen on the door. I could barely push it open to make my way out to the privy the next morning. Ricky trudged closely behind in the narrow cut I had made through the snow.

The sun was rising and Mama was stoking a fire in the range when we kicked off our boots for breakfast. "Good morning, boys. Wash your hands," she said as she always did when we came in. "Shoe, looks like you've got a lot of shoveling to do before school this morning."

Mama was sure to remind me what I knew I should do. She reveled in morning words.

"How was your visit with the DuPree girl yesterday?" Mama asked with a tinge of expectation.

"It wasn't a visit, Mama. MaryAnne just wanted to build a snow fort," I said, hoping to clear that up before it went any further.

"She seems like a nice girl," said Mama. "I saw her mother again yesterday. We had a nice visit. She's very sophisticated but very friendly, too. Shoe, be sure to treat her little girl like a lady, okay?"

"Yes, Ma," I said. Mama often reminded me to treat girls like a lady. Dad did that for Mama most of the time, and I guess Mama figured all girls should have the same treatment.

I wolfed down pancakes, then did my shoveling. Steam rose from the front of my open jacket as I trudged a fresh trail all the way to school. The plow hadn't gotten out yet. But like Dad always said, "The wagon's stuck now—but legs never need a plow." My eyes were nearly swelled shut by the time I got to the schoolhouse on account of squinting at the bright white blanketing everything. When I slumped into my desk I was still stewing that MaryAnne thought she owned the privilege of giving me a new name.

MaryAnne lighted on her seat a moment later but not before whispering, "Good morning, Shoesth."

I ignored her. It wasn't easy with her blocking my view. MaryAnne's deep-red braids were as branches gripping both sides of her head. The hair bound together like the trunk of a cedar at the back of her neck, then reached down past the front edge of my desk.

Reminded me of the tree I built my fort in down at the creek—which I planned on finishing once the snow melted. Just a few more slabs from the mill for a roof and a good ladder. Two of the steps broke last spring before I ran out of no mosquitoes. The best time for a tree fort is when there's no mosquitoes. That's when I would make me a real ladder.

Teacher rustled papers up front as I scraped around my desk cubby for something to write with. I pulled out my sharpest yellow #2 when a couple of pencil stubs dropped to the floor by my boot. I had ground them down to where they were too short to use. Good little ladder rungs, I imagined as I gathered them off the floor. Three pencils, three steps on the ladder, I surmised, being careful not to let anyone see the smirk taking hold of my face.

Sliding a pencil through MaryAnne's thick braid of hair was easier than I thought. Perhaps it was the soap that made her hair so slippery. I slowly wiggled the shortest pencil in near the bottom. She hadn't noticed. The second went toward the middle, easier than the first. My newest pencil, being the longest, had to be the last step, in the thick part.

Just as I snuck it in about halfway teacher said, "MaryAnne, please come pass out paper for this morning's assignment."

MaryAnne moved to attention so I had to let go. The pencil held, hanging precariously out the side of her braid like a broken step to my fort. I froze, wishing it wouldn't fall, and wishing that no one would notice my pencils making their way to the front of the room. As MaryAnne passed the row near teacher's desk, a couple of girls snickered near me. I tensed, hoping MaryAnne hadn't heard.

Then Buffalo Alice announced the spectacle to all, "NICE HAIR, missy! What do you call that? Jacob's ladder?"

Buffalo Alice was probably jealous. Her coarse brown hair doubled as baling wire in a pinch. The mass was glued down on both sides with something, then gathered at the back into a permanent wedge. It was clear that Mrs. Hawthorne kept it short for one less problem.

At the sound of Buffalo's attack, MaryAnne twirled to see what was the matter, sending my good pencil through the air like an arrow hunting for its mark. That's when time stopped.

I wished the day had never started. MaryAnne was about to find out what was wrong with her braid. Buffalo Alice would be in trouble for blurting out in class. Everyone would know whose pencils had adorned MaryAnne's hair. And I would be dead. It would have been better if I had spent the night in my snow fort and froze to death. But I never had that kinda luck.

The sharp tip of my best pencil found its mark on Buffalo Alice's forehead. It seemed to stick for a moment before Buffalo slapped her face as to bring death to a mosquito. She rose with such ferocity that her desk came with her. (Buffalo had to carefully slide sideways out of her seat if she didn't want her desk to follow.) But this time, all four iron legs left the floor as she swung wildly at the air.

"How dare you make a mockery of me!" she yelled.

Buffalo Alice couldn't hold herself and the desk up for more than a moment. The whole assembly crashed down with such force that both windows rattled. Boys were laughing. Girls were stunned. MaryAnne had a look of horror on her face as Buffalo, now able to slide out of her seat, stood up in the aisle.

"Go back to where you came from, Shorty!" Buffalo said. "You don't belong here!"

The entire class had gone stone silent, waiting for the opening round. Only Ernie had his head down, pretending nothing was in play. It was the only way Ernie could keep from landing in the corner.

By this time Mrs. LeMarche had intercepted the space between MaryAnne and Buffalo. "Sit back down, Alice!" she said.

Buffalo didn't obey. I could see from here that her face had turned as red as the Hawthorne's car.

Mrs. LeMarche twirled her beads, cinching them into a knot. She stood her ground. I watched the lump on her throat slide down as she swallowed hard. "I said sit down, young lady."

Buffalo Alice stomped one foot then glared past teacher to MaryAnne. "You haven't heard the last of this from me!" she snarled. Then she wedged herself back into her desk.

Teacher twisted her necklace faster now, scanning the room. "Everyone, get out your readers and read silently from where we left off yesterday."

Some of us did. Most sat stunned. I couldn't move if I'd wanted.

Teacher turned toward MaryAnne for the cross-examination. "Who did this to your hair?" she asked, twirling her beads now with mighty force.

MaryAnne glanced toward me. I opened my eyes wide, shaking my head ever so slightly.

"I don't know, ma'am," MaryAnne said politely.

Teacher's necklace suddenly burst. White beads pinged the floor, breaking the silence, bouncing in every direction.

"Oh, my!" teacher exclaimed.

In seconds, kids were down on their knees chasing treasure rolling by at top speed. Some of the beads had made their way back to me. There was a commotion not seen in class since the first school began. Someone yelled, "I got five!" Others were shouting out their loot, laughing in great fun.

Buffalo Alice rose and stormed out the door. As she passed my desk I caught a glimpse of a peculiar black dot on her forehead, just off center.

Teacher looked as if she might cry. Then she marched straight back to me, grabbed me by the ear, and without a word dragged me directly to the principal's office. He wasn't there so I had some time to nurse my ear before the sentence was handed down.

Only a few minutes passed when he returned. "Arthur, I've heard all of what happened in Mrs. LeMarche's class this morning," he said. "It seems you've been in trouble more than once. I want you to learn a lesson. You are suspended from school for the next two weeks. That will give you time to think about how you might want to behave when you return."

Suspended! That was a word only heard of in stories or when we talked about Terry Nuchols' one day in class. Principal let me go. "Be back here in two weeks, Mr. Makinen," he said.

I was in the hall buttoning my coat when MaryAnne came to grab hers. She wasn't looking my way. Her freckled cheek was still wet. Her lash held back another tear. I didn't know what to say at first. I finished buttoning my overcoat, put my hat on, then asked, "Are you suspended, too?"

"No," she said, her bottom lip quivering. "Teacher said I should go home to settle and then start again tomorrow."

"I never was in trouble 'til you came," I said. "You're going to get me kicked out of school for good one of these days."

MaryAnne's tear followed the others down her face. "I told Mrs. LeMarche that I didn't know who put pencils in my hair because I wasn't sure it was you," she said as she wiped the tear away. "Why did you do it, Shoesth?" Then she looked up. "Is it because you don't like me?"

"Well, it's just 'cause ... your braid is so big and it reminded me of ... never mind," I stammered. "I'm sorry Buffalo called it Jacob's ladder."

MaryAnne's eyes brightened a bit. "Oh, I don't mind that part. But her other words—about me not belonging here—that hurt," she said. MaryAnne got quiet for a moment while she slipped her gloves on. "Shoesth," she continued, "do you know the real Jacob's ladder?"

"No," I replied. "But what does that matter? I'm kicked out of school for two whole weeks. No telling what Dad will do. And Mama will never let me hear the end of it."

6

No End of It

"I am not going to let you hear the end of this, Arthur Makinen!" Mama yelled. "Go to your room and don't come out until your dad calls you! I'm telling you, one of these days you are going to make me have a conniption!"

I had never seen a conniption until Ricky gave Mama one. That was the day he chased grasshoppers far into the dark of night. I didn't want to see another one of those, so I bounded up the stairs in four great leaps. I settled on my bed to listen for clues if Mama was going to calm down. Being called Arthur Makinen was worse than being called Shoe, honey. Mama only used my given name when things got real bad.

It was a long afternoon without lunch. I tried to think of what I'd be doing outside when the weather warmed. How I'd fix my fort, catch trout in the creek, make a bridge. Time crept slowly to the moment Dad opened the back door.

I could hear Mama plain through the floor vent. She spared Dad no details, capping it off with, "And here I just told him this morning to treat the DuPree girl real nice—like a lady. And look what he went and did. I will not let him hear the end of this!"

Mama didn't get mad much, but she did light off when a real lady wasn't treated like a lady.

"What are you going to do with that boy?" I heard Mama say to Dad. "I won't have him here in this house for the next two weeks moping around with nothing to do but pine for food. What are you going to do with him?"

Mama wouldn't let Dad hear the end of it, either. And Dad wasn't going to get a word in sideways.

"Since when does a Makinen act up in school—with the DuPrees of all people?" Mama continued. "Mrs. LeMarche said the whole lot was in an uproar. That's not the reputation we want our kids to leave us with. What are you going to do with that boy?"

By this time I didn't want to hear the end of it. But I couldn't help myself from scooting a little closer to the floor vent. There was a bit of a pause—long enough for Dad to let out a deep breath.

"He'll go to work with me," Dad said.

"Go to work with you?" Mama's voice pitched higher than the two choir ladies at church. "What will you have him do there?"

"Man's work," was all Dad said.

"Ricky! Get off the table!" Mama interrupted.

Nothing more was said about it that night. I missed supper. I missed having a normal day. I even missed getting the switch, and the way things were when things weren't so different.

Suddenly, Ricky slammed the door open. "What'd you do, Shoe?" I was in no mood to talk to anyone, much less Ricky. "Was it something real bad?" he said as he squinted his eyes and flared his nostrils. "Like punch a kid in the nose 'til his face was bleedin' all over?"

"I didn't treat a girl nice," I said.

Ricky sagged. "Wow. That's it? I thought you done something like this!" he exclaimed as he punched his pillow with all he had. "And this!... and this!"

***

"Wake up, Shoe. You're coming with me to do man's work." It was Dad shaking me awake at six in the morning. I dressed, then found Dad at the table with his Bible. He always read before he ate the morning meal. "Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right," Dad quoted. "That's what the good Lord has to say about your work. He has a lot to say about a man's work."

Mama was at the stove stirring oatmeal. She hadn't said a word to me or Dad. That wasn't like her. My eyes were still drooping when the mill whistle gave two short blasts. That meant Dad would take his last sip and kiss Mama above the eye. I tied my bootlaces good and tight, quickly put on my coat and hat, slipped on my choppers, then followed Dad into the bitter cold.

"You'll be hauling slabs and shoveling sawdust today, Shoe," Dad said over the squeak of our boots on the snow. "You know where the slabs go?"

"Sort of," I said.

"Put them on the pile in front of the boiler. Throw 'em high. Don't leave any lying around or Sarge Malvern will be on me about it," Dad said sternly. "Sarge is not one to be on the wrong side of."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Malvern was the mill supervisor. Dad called him Sarge. I guess 'cause he was in charge.

It only took a few more minutes to reach the mill. "Mornin', Toivo." It was Mr. Johnson. "I see you brought your sidekick today."

"Shoe is going to learn some man's work," Dad said.

"Man's work, eh? Well, you've come to the right spot for that, young man," Mr. Johnson said. A large puff of steam clouded the gleam in his eye.

"Jim," Dad said, "We'll have Shoe move slabs and keep sawdust clear of the cradle. We'll do a wagonload in record time today."

"All right," said Mr. Johnson, grinning broadly. "Let's see how you do. And be sure you pitch those slabs to da top-a-da pile, ya know!" I nodded, already having had that instruction.

Suddenly, steam shot through the skinny pipe on top of the boiler house with one long, ear-piercing blast. Mr. Johnson squeezed on a small lever then pulled back a long handle. The enormous blade of the saw whirled. The bull chain from the hot pond moved the same time the sawblade started, pulling the first log closer to the blade. Dad and Mr. Johnson wrestled it onto the cutting cradle, then pulled some more levers to get it into position for trimming the bark. The first cut screamed at me. I thought my head might explode. In a moment, they had cut a piece longer than two of me and threw it to the side. Dad gave me an expectant look. I strained to lift the slab at its middle. It broke in two, so I dragged one piece to the boiler. There was already a large heap of slabs waiting their turn to be heat for the steam that turned the saw, that warmed the pond, which blew the whistle. I managed to throw the half-slab up near the top.

When I got back to Dad, there was already another slab on the ground, along with the first piece I hadn't carried. I figured I'd better move a little faster. Before long, I unbuttoned my coat to let off some steam of my own.

The sun rose higher. I wondered when we would stop for a break. Dad and Mr. Johnson kept cutting, making an occasional motion at each other. I guess it was their way of talking above the screaming saw. I was barely keeping up; my arms and legs were heavier than a boy should bear. Finally, on one of my returns, Mr. Johnson and Dad were sitting on the back of an empty wagon.

"Shoe," Dad said, "Go fetch some water out of the pond."

As weak as my legs were, I gladly obeyed. "Sure." I took the milk bottle Dad always brought to work and headed for the hot pond. I needed water and something to eat real soon.

I made my way quickly, enjoying the squeak of my boots on the snow. Some days it never warmed up enough for the snow to stop squeaking. As I approached the pond, I watched steam wafting off the entire surface toward the frozen pond on the other side of the road. Beyond were the bare branches of small trees surrounding the rail tracks that made their way into a dead-looking forest beyond. The evergreens were all gone. Dad said big pines once stood right here, but now the train traveled many miles to places where pines still stood and lumberjacks brought them down to the ground. That's the work that kept logs in the ponds and what kept Dad feeding us every day.

I reached over and filled the bottle from a spot that looked clear enough. The water cooled me all the way down. Folks called it a hot pond, but in the winter it was just warm enough to keep the ice off. As I took a deep breath between gulps, I could see the pond was about half-full of logs. One of the Kingman boys hopped from log to log, wielding a long pole to push the logs slowly my way. It made me think of Dietrich and Gunther, and brought a lot of questions to my head. "How had they died doing that job? Why did they have to die so young? Where were they now?"

"Shoe!" Dad called. I quickly filled the bottle again and ran back. "Where have you been? Break time is nearly over."

Nearly over? I wondered when I would have time to rest. I picked up the shovel to move sawdust out from under the log cradle before Dad and Mr. Johnson started up again.

"You're doing good, Shoe," Mr. Johnson said with a smile. "By next week, we'll be having to keep up with you."

Next week! I could hardly think past the day.

The noon whistle blew one long blast just before I would have collapsed. I followed Dad back home.

Mama had already prepared baloney sandwiches and pickled beets for lunch, "Hi. How's my men?"

"Ready to eat," Dad said.

"Well, Shoe, how is your first day of work going?" Mama wanted to know.

"Fine." I was too tired to say anything else. Now I knew why Dad laid on the floor after lunch. Eating didn't take long, and then I was on the floor, too.

"Come on, Shoe, back to work." It was Dad again.

Where am I? I thought. Then I realized I must have fallen asleep. How could lunchtime have gone so fast?

"Shoe, honey. You're looking tired," Mama said. "You'd better stand strong. There's a whole afternoon ahead of you." Mama had her own way of encouraging. "Now don't you think it would have been better just to treat the DuPree girl nice?"

Ma wasn't kiddin'. There would be no end of it.

One day blurred into the next. Dad let me stay home on Saturday on account of I had to catch up on my shoveling there. That was the day that pain made its home in every place of my body. And it was the first day I ever looked forward to Sunday.

7

Intruders

Sitting on a hardwood pew felt real good. Sitting felt real good. Mrs. Johnson played "Blessed Assurance" on the piano before pastor came forward. I liked to watch Mrs. Johnson's fingers move across the keys without hitting a wrong one. It was easy to watch 'cause the piano was up against the wall next to us and 'cause we always sat in the second pew ever since I can remember. Nobody sits in the first row. Except on Christmas Eve. That's when everyone comes and us kids have to sing and sit in the front.

I was too busy watching Mrs. Johnson's fingers to notice the DuPrees slide in behind us—until a smell marched past my nose. I knew that smell. I slowly looked over my shoulder to see MaryAnne's father, sitting bolt upright, his jaw firmly set on a square face and framed by black sideburns that reached just below the ear. I wondered how sideburns could be trimmed so neatly and how a guy kept every hair in place like that.

Then a movement at the back entrance caught my eye. Perhaps 'cause it was not a familiar sight at church. Buffalo Alice pushed the bell rope aside then filled the double doors.

What is she doing here? I thought. The Hawthornes never came to church except on Christmas Eve. Buffalo Alice didn't even come then 'cause she wouldn't sing and she didn't want to play some kinda animal. At least that's what the kids said. Maybe she came to turn a new leaf.

Mr. Kingman went up front to light the candles. That was my cue to ring the bell. I made my way to the back and squeezed past Buffalo, being careful not to make eye contact. I always rang the bell with the full importance a bell-ringer should have. I reached high on the rope, then squatted all the way to the floor to ring the bell loud. Sometimes I bounced off my backside on the way down. Usually after five pulls Kip Stinson pointed his chin at me to knock it off. Kip used to ring the bell but aged up to usher. All the big girls liked him 'cause they said he was handsome. I didn't see it. I didn't see how any girl could like a guy in the first place. Kip clearly thought otherwise, and acted like the man in charge. His glare was my signal to end the best part of church and sit back in the pew. I found that my seat was right in front of MaryAnne. It was my first chance to block her view.

The service started with all of us singing "Rock of Ages." That was one of my favorites 'cause it was about carving a cave and hiding out in there. Pastor talked a long time about doing the right thing and loving people and Jesus and stuff—mostly what he talked about every Sunday. When we were done I rushed outside to see Oscar. Mrs. Krebbs was already preaching at him.

"Hi, Oscar!" I said, patting him on the rump.

"Good morning, Arthur," said Mrs. Krebbs in her cracked old voice. "What did you learn from the message today?"

Mrs. Krebbs smiled so big it made wrinkles from her chin to her white hair. She didn't have eyes, near as I could tell. Her face wasn't big enough for everything. I tried to think of something to say, but it wasn't coming to me. "I dunno," I muttered.

"Arthur, God has something for you and it's real simple. He wants you to be in heaven with him someday. All you have to do is repent of your sins and make him Lord. Do you follow me, son?"

I didn't want to follow Mrs. Krebbs anywhere. Nothing was simple now. My arms hurt, I wasn't in school, and there was another week at the mill ahead of me.

Suddenly a shrill voice grated the air from near the road. "Your ma is blonde and your pa's hair is black as pitch!" I could pick out Buffalo's voice a day's walk away. She had turned on MaryAnne. "What does that make you, somebody else's kid?"

"Come on, Oscar." I ran past a few people to get close, but hung back so as not to get too close to Buffalo Alice.

"I asked you a question, girly!" Buffalo said. Then she shoved MaryAnne's shoulder. MaryAnne stood quietly with the same look she gave Buffalo last week in class.

I took a deep breath, then stepped to MaryAnne's side. "What has she ever done to you?" I said to Buffalo Alice.

"This is none of your business, Makinen!" she snapped, flaring her nostrils at me.

I shoved my hands in my pockets so Buffalo Alice wouldn't see them shaking. Oscar stood next to me with his tail high and his head low to the ground. He began to moan deep inside his throat until the moaning grew into a vicious snarl. I was in good position to watch Oscar get his first taste of Buffalo hide. Buffalo Alice glanced down at Oscar's teeth, then turned and thundered toward home.

I let go of the breath I'd been holding and turned to see how MaryAnne had held up. She smiled at me. I diverted my eyes back to my best friend. "Let's go, Oscar. We should find Mom and Dad."

***

Monday at the mill was more of the same. By Tuesday I had found a good sitting log at the back of the slab pile by the boiler. I learned to take a rest now and then where the scream of the saw wasn't as shrill. I hadn't been sitting for more than a minute when two voices came outside from the boiler room behind me. At first I couldn't make out what they were saying. Then they got closer to the pile I was against. One of them put his foot up on a slab sticking out from the rest of the wood. I could see his black boot out of the corner of my eye, partly covered by a heavy brown pant leg.

"What is he doing here?" one of them asked.

"I wish I knew," the other said. "He's snooping around too much. It's the second time he's been here this month."

"Too shifty for an insurance adjuster," the first one said. "I don't trust him."

The second one got snappish. "You wouldn't have anything to worry about if you had done it like you were told."

"I don't want to hear it," the first one said. There was a pause. Then a smoking cigarette butt landed near my leg. The boot pulled away from the slab and the two started walking away. "We need to give DuPree something to chew on before..."

My ears burned for more but that's all I got before their voices were drowned out by the singing of the saw. I peered around the woodpile to be sure they were gone.

Why were they talking about MaryAnne's father being here? I thought. First she messed up fifth grade, now her dad was meddling at the mill? I didn't like it. I crushed the cigarette into the snow with the heel of my boot. MaryAnne would have some explaining to do as soon as suspension was over.

8

A New Friend

Kids gawked at me like the new kid in school when I walked down the hall the first day back. Getting attention wasn't my thing, especially that kind of attention. I laid low during class, tried to pay attention to everything the teacher said, and ached for morning recess when I would confront MaryAnne.

Somehow MaryAnne beat me outside when recess finally did come. I found her on the sunny side of the schoolhouse with no one around. Guess she still hadn't made many friends.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi, Shoesth." MaryAnne looked surprised, like I'd never said hi before. As I thought about it, maybe I hadn't.

"So what did I miss in class when I was gone?" I asked, trying to find something to say before I confronted her about her dad.

"Not much," she said, kicking the snow with her toe. Then after some thought she looked up at me. "Mrs. LeMarche got a new necklace." MaryAnne grinned big enough to imprint both dimples on her cheeks. "But I'm sure you saw that already." She got quiet again, then added, "It's not as fun when you're not there, Shoesth."

The conversation was becoming difficult. I just wanted to know what her dad was messing with at the mill but MaryAnne was too gentle, too soft for me to get the right words. It would have been much better if she were mad at me for what I did to her in class. Then I could just blurt it out and she would have to give me an answer.

"No one ever told me that before." I stepped backward as I said it. Where did that come from? I thought. I found myself in a place that was too new. My best friend, Oscar, never talked back, it was true, but then he never could tell me how much he missed me either. Words seemed to hit differently than the whack of my dog's tail. I felt as if this girl was still messing with me; that if I stayed around her, things would be more different than they already had become. Still, I had to find out what MaryAnne knew about her father's trouble.

"How come your dad is going to the mill?" I asked abruptly.

"What do you mean? You thsaw my dad at the mill?" MaryAnne asked.

"Well, no, I didn't see him. It's just that some guys were talking about him being there and they didn't seem too happy about it," I explained. "You said your dad worked for insurance or something—what's he doing messing around at the mill?"

"I don't know," MaryAnne said. "Sometimes he goes places for work but I'm not sure why. It's just his job I think."

I had no reason to doubt MaryAnne. She seemed to be as honest as any kid I had ever known. And yet she was spunky enough to take it from Buffalo Alice. "Well," I said, "maybe you and I should find out."

MaryAnne grinned, squinting her eyes just like the day she named me Shoes. "Maybe we should," she said.

***

I didn't tease MaryAnne anymore after that. At least not in class. She had agreed with me to find out why her dad had made trouble at the mill, so at least for a time we would be friends.

I pressed her to ask her dad about it but she didn't come up with anything. "I asked him if he ever visited the mill," MaryAnne said. "And he told me, 'Oh, that's not important, honey. You know that I don't like to talk about work. It takes time away from you and from Mama.' So I didn't ask him anymore."

***

March winds had melted most of the snow. I took Oscar with me when I pulled my traps. Weasels would be changing to brown soon and folks only wanted white weasels. Oscar always wagged hard if I got a weasel. He liked trapping as much as me. Dad said I could get $1.50 for each pelt this year. That would make $4.50 for the three I skinned. I planned on buying more traps and trying for muskrats come fall. I told Dad that when I was bigger I wanted to trap beaver. I would set a trap line so long it would take me a whole day to check them all.

MaryAnne and I didn't make any progress solving the mystery of her dad, but we stayed friends anyway. Instead of avoiding her in the morning, I tried to be there when she walked to school. Sometimes we played follow-the-leader on top of the banks, seeing who would fall off first. Other times we broke ice in the spring puddles, not saying much. If we were talking, it was mostly me listening and MaryAnne doing the talking.

"Shoesth, do you like it here in Stoney Creek? I mean, do you ever wish you lived in a different town?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked. "There are so many different towns and so many different places. I don't mean like Red Town—that's not really a town. What about going to other places, a bigger town, a city, even a different state?"

I gaped at her.

MaryAnne went on, "I lived in Traverse City once. There were a lot of interesting people there. But we didn't have much room. Daddy wanted me in the house after dark all the time. I'm just saying, there's so many different places than Stoney Creek."

That's how our conversations were. I started to like my new friend 'cause MaryAnne didn't mind if I had nothing to say.

The leaves were popping fast on the Saturday me and Oscar showed MaryAnne my tree fort down at the creek. Two steps on my ladder were broke so I locked my hands together under MaryAnne's shoe, then pushed her high enough to reach the good ones.

"Hey, this is pretty neat!" MaryAnne said when I shimmied up to the deck with her. "We can make it our secret meeting place. All we need are some walls and a roof and a couple new steps on the ladder. We could even put a window right here with some cute curtains to brighten it up!" she said, drawing an invisible square in the open space between branches. "What do you think, Shoesth?"

I thought the place was bright already. "Well," I said, "I planned on finishing it—except for walls. And I didn't exactly have curtains in mind."

MaryAnne's shoulders fell.

"I do have enough nails to make walls though," I said.

"Good," MaryAnne replied on her tippy toes. Standing on her toes gave me jitters. I nearly fell off my fort once, and would have, if it hadn't been for branches to grab onto.

"Are you good at straightening nails?" I asked. I had a bucket of nails in the woodshed. The only trouble was, I'd used all the straight ones.

MaryAnne grinned, shaking her head slightly at me. I didn't know what that meant. Did she not know how to straighten nails? Or did she wonder why I doubted her?

"Okay," I said. "You can help. First we need to find enough wood."

"Let's go then," she said.

I went down the ladder first. The last good step to the two broken ones twisted on my way down, nearly coming off the tree trunk as I jumped the rest of the way to the ground. Oscar bounded up from the creek to see I had made it. MaryAnne came down backward to the last good step and stuck there. Both her arms were wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

"Come on," I said. "Jump!"

"It's too high," she replied, "and I can't see where to jump."

"Just turn your head around and jump!" I insisted, not knowing how to get a girl unstuck off a tree.

MaryAnne glanced backward only briefly. "I can't," she whimpered.

If Mama would have been with me right then, she would have told me to do what is noble. I gave it some thought, and wasn't comin' up with much. "Oh, come on, MaryAnne! Don't be ridiculous!" It was the best chivalry I could muster.

MaryAnne grabbed tighter. Oscar whimpered. By this time I had moved to the side of the tree to see what her problem was. She pressed her nose into the trunk of the maple so tightly I could only see one side of her face. Her eye was closed. I thought she might cry again.

"Hold my hand, Shoesth," she said, eye still closed.

Weird! I thought. The only girl's hand I ever held was Mama's. And that was years ago. I waited. Maybe she would change her mind and jump. MaryAnne didn't move. It looked like we were going nowhere if I didn't offer a hand.

"All right," I said. "Scoot down; then see if you can reach me." MaryAnne slid down slowly without looking back. The side of her face was redder than I'd seen it since the last Buffalo attack. Finally her hand reached mine. I automatically squeezed. No one told me a girl's hand was that warm.

"Now jump," I said, holding my other arm up to slow her down.

"Don't let me fall," MaryAnne pleaded. Then she pushed off with both feet. Her shoulder caught me square in the chest, sending both of us down to the mat of last fall's leaves. I was dazed.

MaryAnne hopped back to her feet, pushing her dress down. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I think so," I replied as Oscar licked my face.

MaryAnne stopped pressing her dress, looked at me still lying on the ground, then she put her hand up to her mouth. I heard a muffled snicker. Suddenly, MaryAnne collapsed to the ground, giggling. Then her giggle turned to laughter.

"What's so funny?" I said.

She got control of herself long enough to catch her breath. MaryAnne slowly shook her head back and forth with a smile bigger than sunshine and a bright gleam in her eye. I couldn't help but smile back.

Then we both laughed until our sides ached.

9

The Mystery of MaryAnne

"Let's go see what wood we can find at the mill," I said after I caught my breath and could laugh no more. "Nobody will be there to yell at us on a Saturday."

MaryAnne and I ran all the way to the mill. When we got there I showed her where I worked at the cutting cradle when I was suspended. MaryAnne wasn't as excited about it as I was. Then I took her by the boiler room where I had to pile slabs. "This is where I was sitting when those two guys were talking about your dad," I told her.

MaryAnne seemed to be deep in thought. "Hm-m-m," was all she said.

Red-winged blackbirds chortled from cattails at the edge of the hot pond. The place was eerily quiet compared to a workday. We picked through the pile of scrap wood to find smaller pieces that were about the size we needed for walls and a roof. I carried four. MaryAnne had two. I was glad my arms got bigger last winter doing that kinda work. And I was glad to have a helper with me. We lugged them back toward the creek, stopping here and there to rest our arms. When we got back to our fort, I dropped my boards by the trunk of our tree and put the two that MaryAnne had on top. It made a nice little bench for us to take a break.

"Let's rest," I said.

MaryAnne flopped.

"We're going to have to take a lot of trips to get enough boards," I remarked, remembering the job it was to haul the wood just for the floor.

"Yeah," MaryAnne replied. "I don't mind. We'll do what we can before dinner, then we can come down here after school next week if my dad says it's okay." MaryAnne wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Before long, school will be out, and we'll have lots of time to work on it."

"I'll be glad when school's out," I said.

"Yeah, me too—for a while." MaryAnne pondered. "But I like school. Mrs. LeMarche has been kind to me. I like when school is let out, but then I look forward to school starting again."

"Really?" MaryAnne was different all right. I had never talked to anyone who actually wanted to go back to school come fall. Maybe it was 'cause she was a girl. I had never really talked to a girl before. "How can you like school so much when you get teased more than most of the kids?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" It was as if MaryAnne didn't know that people made fun of her.

"When people pick on you," I said. "Like the time we were walking to school and Brady called you 'Little Redhead.' "

"Oh, that. I don't let it bother me much."

"You're kidding!" I said. "What about Buffalo Alice? She is just plain mean!"

MaryAnne's face broke into a gentle smile. "Thank you. I never thanked you for sticking up for me after church that day."

"Don't you just feel like taking her down? I mean, if you were big enough? She's looking for a fight."

"Yes, I know, she's not very nice," MaryAnne said. "But it helps when I remember that Alice is an image-bearer too."

"Image-bearer?" I gaped at her again. Now it was me shaking my head slowly from side to side. MaryAnne had become more of a mystery to me than the day she came to class. It was as if she had different eyes than most, saw things in different ways. She's the only kid I knew who called Buffalo Alice "Alice." How could MaryAnne not be Buffalo's enemy the way she'd been treated?

"What color is blue to you?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when you see blue, is it really blue? Or when you see blue is it another color, like yellow or red?

MaryAnne's eyebrows reached for the top of her forehead.

"Did you ever wonder that?" I continued. "What if you could see from somebody else's eyes? Would colors be the same or would blue be yellow?

"You are funny, Shoesth. What made you think of that?" she said.

"'Cause it's like you have different eyes than me," I said.

"I do," said MaryAnne. "My eyes are brown and yours are blue!" MaryAnne turned at me with one dimple. "We need to get more wood," she said, then ran back toward the mill.

Oscar and I caught up to her in a flash. No girl was going to out-run me. We ran together and hauled wood, ran some more and brought more wood. On our fourth trip back to the mill we both had to catch our breath and cool off. I found a shady spot between two drying stacks of lumber that was just wide enough for us to scoot in and squat down. I motioned MaryAnne in first. I went next, than Oscar joined us in the shade. The pine smell of the lumberyard had a special draw to me, but in our newfound cave, the aroma filled my entire being.

"This is almost as good as our tree fort," I said over my shoulder. I couldn't see MaryAnne behind me, only the back of Oscar's neck and his curly black and white fur in front of me, jiggling as he panted.

MaryAnne said, "Nice and cool. But too small."

Bang!

"What was that?" MaryAnne asked.

"Sh-h-h." I grabbed Oscar's collar. It was the distinct slam of the screen door on the mill house office. "Don't move," I whispered to MaryAnne. I didn't want trouble, and I didn't want MaryAnne in trouble for being at the mill.

I could hear men's voices comin' our way. Oscar perked his ears. "Stay." I pulled back on Oscar's collar. He dropped his ears for a moment, then perked again to see who was comin'.

"Nice work this week, Malvern; most board feet since this time last year. You really know how to push 'em," said the first man.

My view was blocked by the next row of lumber in the yard.

"Ya gotta keep feedin' the chain," said the second one. "Kingman will be back on Monday so I won't be riding logs, but I'll keep the crew hopping."

"I don't like that Kingman," said the first man. "We barely make quota with him and it's been setting us back since last fall. If you don't get Kingman up to speed, he's gotta go."

"Then what'll we do?"

"That's your problem! You've gotta move the crew faster. Why, either one of the Dietrichs could have run circles around that Kingman."

"We still could have had them here."

"Don't talk to me like that!" The first man stepped back from behind the lumber stack. It was Mr. Hawthorne! His jaw gripped tight on the stub of a cigar.

"Who is it?" MaryAnne whispered.

"Sh-h-h!" I said.

"If you would have done it like you were told," Mr. Hawthorne said, "Gunther would still be rolling logs and we'd be putting out more board feet than you can count with your shoes off!"

Oscar growled tenuously. I leaned back on his collar and peered through the drying layer of lumber. Mr. Hawthorne's face had changed to a new shade of red.

"You'd better mind your p's and q's, Malvern, or you'll be the next one scraping mud at the bottom of the pond."

Just then Oscar tore loose from my hand, running full speed toward the men. He let out two loud barks at the shins of Mr. Hawthorne, then kept running toward the cutting cradle and the pond beyond.

"What in the world?!" said Mr. Hawthorne as he spun to see what had passed by. "Wasn't that the Makinens' dog?"

"Let's go!" I whispered over my shoulder, then bolted out of our hiding place as the men were watching Oscar bound toward the pond. We ran the opposite direction, between rows of lumber to the other end of the yard. After we crossed the train tracks and the main road, we ran behind the school and kept on toward the creek. Neither one of us stopped until we fell down at our tree.

My breath was comin' fast. "That was close!"

"Yeah. I don't want to do that again," said MaryAnne. She breathed hard, her shoulders against the tree. "Alice's dad was very angry. I wonder if he's always like that."

"I've never seen him that way before," I said. "I've only seen him at the Co-op a couple times. He ignores me. But he's happy when he drives his car in the parade every year." I contemplated for a moment about what we'd just heard. "The other guy, Mr. Malvern, he's dad's boss. You know, they sounded like the same two guys that were talking about your dad at the mill when I hauled slabs there."

MaryAnne offered me a choice of questions. "Really? Why was he so mad? What were they talking about?"

"He said something about working faster, and if they could just have Gunther back at the mill. I don't know what to make of it."

MaryAnne stared right through me. "I don't think we should go there anymore, Shoesth."

When I saw the look on MaryAnne's face, I had a strange sense that things at Stoney Creek would never be the same. It was as if I had stepped into a big-people's world—a mysterious place where I didn't belong. Stranger yet was a lingering sense that somehow MaryAnne was a part of that mystery.

Truth was, it was the last day of our lives as we knew it.

10

Arrested

A hundred bees buzzed overhead as I passed beneath the apple tree in front of Blankenshine's yard. The invigorating smell of apple blossoms marked my last day of school. I had a spring in my step 'cause I was going home to tell Mama that I would be down at the creek. The trout were biting. Mama said we would have fish for dinner if I could catch enough before Dad got home.

Lawrence was smiling on the Blankenshine's porch when I approached. Lawrence was always smiling. I wondered what really went on in his world. He traced a line down the back of the support post, then ran his hand along the railing toward the next post. It looked like he was writing with something. I paused out of curiosity. In his hand was an old blue feather.

Lawrence caught me staring, "Sho-o-o-o-o . . ." His voice trailed off but his eye stayed on me. Lawrence was hard to look at 'cause one eye looked at me and the other eye looked somewhere else.

"Hi, Lawrence," I said to break the awkward place I'd put myself in.

I wondered how Lawrence knew my name. I guessed he was probably 10 years older than me. I never told him who I was. Folks said he used to be real smart and that he still had a memory that worked like a photographic camera. I wasn't so sure about that. He did seem to know everyone, even though he appeared to be living in another land. Lawrence still lived with his ma, who rarely showed herself outside the house. I liked that Lawrence was friendly—he always had a smile for anyone who broke into his imaginary world. I think I would have liked him even more before his mind got cracked.

"Whatcha doing there?" I asked, looking for a logical exit.

Lawrence's one eye was still on me. "Draw-ing," he said. Lawrence talked as if every word had a drawl. "Drawing a path back to my feather."

"Nice," I said. I didn't stick around to see where that was going. It seemed pointless to try a conversation on Lawrence, especially on the last day of school.

"Gotta run, Lawrence." I waved nervously.

Lawrence waved his blue feather at me.

I ran just like I said I would and made it home lickety-split. "Hi, Mom!"

"Hi, Shoe. Did you have a good last day?"

"Yup. And I'm going fishing right after I dig worms." I dropped my lunch pail on the table then turned back out the door.

"Don't be late. You've got two hours before the whistle," Mama said. "And take Ricky with you!"

"Okay," I said reluctantly. It wasn't that I didn't like Ricky. It's just that he always scared the fish. I got the shovel and Ricky, and dug where the winter's wood had been stacked. Ricky's job was to pick worms out of the dirt. He looked forward to it like a robin on the morning dew.

"Look at this one!" Ricky said, crossing his eyes at a night crawler he dangled in front of his own face.

"Put it in the can, Ricky. There's another one right there." I pointed with the shovel. Ricky made a job more interesting, but things always went slower when he was around.

I didn't wait for Ricky on the way to the creek. The fish were biting, and so were the mosquitoes. That was two reasons to walk fast, so Ricky had to run to keep up. I settled in below the dam by the deep pool, being careful not to let the fish see my shadow. The thunder of water over the dam was a welcome sound, holding the promise of hungry fish in the pool below where I sat down. Ricky came up behind me and threw a twig in the middle of the water. It made a splash, a large ring formed, then it floated slowly downstream.

"Ricky! You're going to scare the fish!" I said.

"Sorry," Ricky said. He walked to the edge and pushed aside the grass next to the pool.

"The fish can see you, Ricky, get down!"

Ricky squatted low until his rump touched the ground. "Hey, Shoe!"

"Be quiet, Ricky."

"But, Shoe, there's two spiders on the water," Ricky reported, looking at me over his shoulder.

"That's nice," I said. Clouds had overcast the sky in time for fish to eat their dinner—and for fish to be my dinner. I was fixin' to get my pole ready.

"They're talkin' to each other," Ricky said.

"How do you know?"

"'Cause I can hear them!" Ricky's nose nearly touched the stream as he joined in on a conversation between two water spiders.

"What are they saying?" I asked. Maybe Ricky had special 4-year-old insight into water spiders.

"I can't tell. They're whispering waterbug language." Ricky wrinkled his face back toward me.

"Why don't you play downstream? You can throw sticks and rocks over there." I motioned beyond a stand of brush where I couldn't cast. Ricky welcomed the opportunity to explore on his own. That's how I found myself alone at my favorite pool—just how I liked it.

I pulled my hook out of the top eye of my pole, grabbed the biggest night crawler from the can, and pinched it in two with my thumbnail. It was big enough to thread on my hook three times, then I cast it toward the middle of the creek. My line ran to the deep edge of the pool almost as soon as the worm hit the water. I let the fish eat for a bit, then set the hook. A nice-sized brookie on the first try! I could feel my heart beating faster as I reeled it onto the bank, unhooked it, and then slid a stick through the fish's gill. Then I baited the hook with the other half of the still-squirming night crawler. The second fish came nearly as fast as the first. The roar of water over the dam held me in a world of my own, where nothing else was there—just my fishing pole, my worm can, and a couple of fish on a stick. Before long I had three trout—almost enough for dinner. I cast my line in the water again and let the worm drift slowly downstream.

"Boo!"

My heart pounded out of my shirt as someone grabbed my shoulders. I spun around to see MaryAnne jump back. She held both hands over her mouth, laughing uncontrollably. Her eyes sparkled with delight.

"You think that's funny, eh?" I was half-irritated, half-glad to see her again at the creek. "I thought your dad told you not to come down here anymore."

MaryAnne dropped her hands and calmed the giggles. "He said I couldn't be with you for a while because he didn't want us to get into any more trouble. Today, he said I could come down to the creek since it's the last day of school."

I controlled a smile. MaryAnne's dad had been bringing her to school and she had been ignoring me in class. We hadn't talked much at all since the day at the mill. I thought she didn't like me anymore. "So your dad's okay with you talking to me now?"

"Oh, I think so," she said. "When I told him what we heard in the lumberyard he seemed very interested. But then he got angry. My dad doesn't get angry much. He forbade me ever going to the mill again and told me to stay away from 'that Makinen boy.' " MaryAnne managed an inverted smile. She was the only one I knew who could smile upside down.

"And?" I said. "What are you doing now?"

"Talking to you," she said. "I told my dad that your name is Shoesth. And that you're not so bad." MaryAnne paused. "He said it would be okay when school's out. And guess what—school's out!" Her eyebrows reached up to touch her bangs.

The fact that MaryAnne told her dad about our time in the lumberyard gave me a twinge of guilt. "I didn't tell my dad about his boss and Mr. Hawthorne at the mill," I said. "I'm afraid he would be real mad at me again. And that's the last thing I want my mom to hear."

"You should tell them, Shoesth," MaryAnne said. "It's not good to keep a secret from your parents."

"And what makes you my authority, Miss MaryAnne?" I jabbed.

MaryAnne's face fell sullen.

As soon as the words left my mouth I wanted to reel them back in. It was an awful feeling—casting out wrong words. At least if I lost a fish, I had a chance that it might bite again. But with words, I would cast them out but could never snag them back to be tucked away somewhere. I guess that's why I didn't use many; ever afraid I'd send out the wrong ones.

We sat on the bank silently while I fished. I caught one more brookie before the others figured me out and quit biting.

Finally I said, "I think we got enough wood for the roof and one wall if you want to finish our fort sometime."

MaryAnne grimaced my way, looking through the corner of her eyes.

I took that as a yes. "Good!" I said. "How about after chores on Monday since there's no school?"

"I'll ask my dad," MaryAnne said with a bit of hope.

The cloudy sky made it seem late. "I've gotta find Ricky and clean these fish," I said. "The whistle is going to blow any time now."

The two of us found Ricky downstream, wet from his ears to his toes.

"How did you do that, Ricky?" I said accusingly.

"Do what?"

"Oh, never mind."

The three of us strolled back toward home, Ricky in the middle.

Ricky did most of the talking, Partway home he held MaryAnne's hand. "MaryAnne, you're not ugly like some of the girls in church."

"Ricky!" I scolded.

MaryAnne looked at me. "Should I say thank you?" Then she laughed.

"It's the best compliment you'll get from Ricky," I explained, holding back a laugh of my own. "See you soon," I said, then Ricky and I turned down our alley.

Monday was on me before I knew it. Waking up to Ricky's dead snake in my face didn't surprise me. But waking up to no school was a thrill. Mama sent me to the Co-op after breakfast for some baking soda and salt. She said it would be fine to work on my treehouse after that.

I took my bike down the alley past Mrs. Krebbs' house. She leaned on her hoe, smiling at dirt.

Mrs. Krebbs saw me comin'. "Morning, Arthur. Looks like another good day the Lord has made." I never knew what to say to Mrs. Krebbs. I thought it might be better to try a conversation with Lawrence. That morning she made me pedal faster than my rusty Flyer should go. Oscar could barely keep up, but it made for a quick trip to the store.

The bell on the door of the Co-op made a happy sound when I went in. I easily found salt and baking soda, having bought them before. Mr. Saddlekamp was at the register when I came to the front to pay. He was there on weekdays, being the owner. Sometimes his boy, Jimmy, helped at the checkout in the summer. But Jimmy usually worked in back after school. "Morning, Shoe," said Mr. Saddlekamp. "Got any plans for your first day off school?"

"Yup. I'm going to work on my fort down at the creek."

"Sounds like fun," he said. "Better work fast, it looks like rain."

I ran out the door, jumped on my bike, and decided to take the long way around so I wouldn't have to deal with Mrs. Krebbs on the way back. That brought me to the front of our house and a sight I thought I would never see. Parked square in front of our yard was a Ford Motor Patrol car with a big white star on the door and the words "County Sheriff" across the side of the hood. Its two front tires were all the way up on the grass.

What happened? I thought. I dropped my bike and ran around the back to the inside of the house, letting the screen door slam behind me. The sheriff and Mr. DuPree stood in our kitchen near the sink, and Mama sat on Dad's chair with a very concerned look on her face. Ricky was on her lap. MaryAnne sat at the table, looking at me, her eyes bigger than the buttons on her dress.

Mama said, "Shoe, the sheriff wants to talk to you."

I looked up at the shiny brim of the sheriff's hat, sloping low over his eyes. "Arthur, Mr. DuPree and I need to talk to you and MaryAnne. You need to come with us to the DuPree's house, where we will take your deposition."

I surveyed Mama and MaryAnne. It looked like they didn't know what a deposition was either. Whatever it was, I wasn't sure I had one that they could take. One thing was for sure, we were in a heap of trouble.

"You won't need to take anything with you," the sheriff said. "Let's go get this over with." MaryAnne and I followed the sheriff out the door with her dad right behind.

"Bye, Shoe," Ricky said longingly. "Are they going to jail, Mama?"

11

Undercover

Drops of rain began to fall as we got into the car. I slid onto the seat by the sheriff, MaryAnne next to me, then Mr. DuPree squeezed in last. Sheriff turned the key, the engine rumbled to life, and we drove away from home. I felt the hammer of Sheriff's revolver poking me in the side. I had to wonder to myself what was happening. I didn't dare ask MaryAnne why we were there.

Her house was only a short drive away. The patrol car sputtered to a stop. We followed Mr. DuPree into his house, where he motioned us to sit down at the table. "Arthur," he started, "This is about the day you and MaryAnne were in the lumberyard."

"Yes, sir." Somehow I knew that day would catch up to me. I should have told Mom and Dad. "We didn't take a lot, sir. I'll bring all of the wood back if you want, honest."

Sheriff pulled his thumb out from the side of his belt and folded his arms over the tight shirt on his belly. "He's not talking about scrap wood, son," Sheriff said. "Tell him, Adrien."

Mr. DuPree explained, "We have reason to believe that the drowning of Dietrich and Gunther Stueck last summer was not an accident." Mr. DuPree pulled one side of his mustache. He looked down at nothing on the table, like he didn't know what to tell us next. "I am a private investigator for Public Life Insurance Company of Illinois. My job is to find out the truth of what happened to those two boys. The sheriff is here as a witness and to bring charges if necessary. Together, we'll see that justice is served." Mr. DuPree turned a chair around, then sat across the table from us with his arms folded over the back of the chair. "Now listen carefully. What we talk about today cannot be repeated to anyone except your parents—do you understand?"

I nodded. MaryAnne was quiet, and I was too scared to look her way. Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning lit the kitchen window, followed by a crash of thunder that nearly pitched me off my chair.

Mr. DuPree didn't notice. "Now, the two of you witnessed something at the mill when you were hiding between the lumber piles. Am I right?"

I nodded again.

"I need you to tell me exactly what you saw and heard; nothing more, nothing less. Sheriff Downing will write your deposition as you speak. Any questions before we start?"

I shook my head.

Mr. DuPree continued, "Okay, Arthur, let's start with you."

I took a deep breath while my thoughts raced back to that moment. I remembered the strong scent of fresh-cut pine, how hot I was, and the cool of the shade; but could I remember the words that were said? I just started speaking to Mr. DuPree. I told him how we found a cool spot to rest, about the two men comin' out of the office, and what I remembered about Mr. Hawthorne being angry at Mr. Malvern—how he didn't "do it right" and that he was mad that Gunther was gone and they couldn't cut as many logs as they used to. It all seemed to run together. When I finished talking, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sheriff was still taking notes.

"Thank you, Mr. Makinen. You did well," said Mr. DuPree. "Anything else you need to tell us?"

"Sorry for taking the wood," I said.

Sheriff cleared his throat. "You can keep it, son. You earned it."

Mr. DuPree turned his attention to MaryAnne. "Now, MaryAnne, what do you remember?"

I took my first look at MaryAnne since we left the house. Her eyes were still as big as buttons and fixin' to cry.

"I don't know, Daddy!" MaryAnne burst into tears.

Mr. DuPree stood up, then lifted MaryAnne right off the chair with two powerful arms. Her head fell over his shoulder. Her dad patted her on the back like he was burping a newborn. "It's okay, honey. It's okay."

***

I had a lot of explaining to do back at home. I came in soaked to the skin. Mama tried to dry me with a dish towel, then shooed Ricky upstairs. She wanted to know what I had been doing, why I had been raising Cain again, and how she could trust me to stay out of trouble. Mama reminded me that she wouldn't let me hear the end of it. I had to tell it all again to Dad after he got home.

It was weird. Dad wasn't mad at me. "Thank you, Shoe, for being honest with the sheriff and Mr. DuPree. I wish you had told me about it sooner, son." Dad didn't lay down any punishment, either. Mama scurried about the kitchen, sighing heavily. I hoped it would wear off.

"Now, you do what Mr. DuPree said. No talking about it with anyone but your Mama and me, understand?" Dad's face was as serious as I'd ever seen.

"Yes, sir," I said. I didn't want to talk about with anyone—except MaryAnne.

***

My plans to work on the fort didn't go so well the first week out of school. I spent the days fishing and hunting wintergreens. Dad and I went to our secret fishing hole that I couldn't get to by myself. We took the long walk together then fished apart the whole time. I think Dad likes it that way. It's always fun to get back together and show each other the fish we caught.

Fishing kept my mind off of the mill and off of MaryAnne. Still, I wanted to see her, 'cause we had a score to settle. The opportunity came a few days later when I headed to the creek with my fishing pole. She was by herself, comin' down the road toward me.

"Hey," I said as I got closer.

"Hi, Shoesth."

"Where are you comin' from?" I asked.

"I was down at our fort. Hoping to run into you. Where have you been?" MaryAnne wanted to know.

"Around." I was in no mood for chitchat.

"What's the matter, Shoesth?" MaryAnne had learned to read me. I wasn't so sure that it was a good thing.

I plunged ahead, "Why didn't you tell me you were a spy?"

"A spy!?" MaryAnne looked at me incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"That's why you came here in the middle of the school year, isn't it? It's 'cause your dad's a spy and you weren't going to let me know. That makes you a spy, too!" Her deception ate at me. I lowered my eyelids and let her have both barrels. "I trusted you, MaryAnne DuPree. I thought we were friends. Then you let me step into a trap that you knew was being set all along."

Maryanne shook her head again. This time it wasn't in fun. "Shoesth, I had no idea. I'm telling you the truth! When I told you about my dad's work, I didn't know he was a detective guy. He never told me what he really does. I could hardly believe what Daddy was saying when we were with the sheriff." MaryAnne's eyes drooped. "That's why I couldn't talk when it was my turn."

"Seriously?" I wanted to believe her.

"Yes! God is my witness!" Maryanne tucked her hair behind one ear. "All week I've been thinking about why we came here. Realizing it was to search after bad people made me sad. And then thinking about all the times we've moved for that reason. We'd go to a new place, long enough to make a few friends, and then Daddy would get a new job. I had no idea that was the reason why."

MaryAnne locked her eyes on mine. "I'm not a spy, Shoesth," she said.

I kicked at the dirt in front of me.

"And I still want to be your friend," said MaryAnne.

Those words struck me somewhere deep down. Perhaps she was as honest as she looked. I offered a word of peace. "Wanna come fishin'?"

MaryAnne stifled a smile. "I'm supposed to be back soon. But how about we work on the fort tomorrow after lunch?"

"Deal," I said.

It was late when I headed home from the creek. The fish weren't biting, but I had a lot to think about, and that takes time. On my walk back I spied Brady Fister hanging out in front of INO's again with his bully friends. I stayed to the far side and kept walkin'.

"Hey, Shrimp!" Brady yelled. "What kinda trouble you been in?" He grinned at his followers, then looked back at me. "I said, what's the sheriff got on you?" He and the others started across the road to intercept me. I stopped walkin' when Brady bumped his belly into my chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. It was a lame answer. Everyone knows everything in Stoney Creek. But lying was the only thing I could come up with 'cause I didn't know what else to say.

Brady shoved me back by the throat. "Don't lie to me, Shoestring! Sheriff's been in town and he's got something on you. Fess up!" That's when Brady slapped the side of my head.

I remembered what Mr. DuPree said and what Dad told me. I looked up at Brady and didn't say another word. Brady's first punch caught me just below the eye. The next few minutes became a blur. Punches were comin' at me from all directions. At one point I doubled over from a kick to the stomach, and didn't remember a whole lot after that.

***

The smell of motor oil was what stirred me awake. I was laying in the weeds behind the Standard Oil Station near the alley to my house. It was nearly dark. My fishing pole and can of worms were gone.

When I came into the kitchen, Mama gasped, "What happened to you?" My jaw hurt too much to talk. Mama scurried to the other room for the medicine box, patched me up and covered me in bed. I rested in the knowledge that Dad would be making a call on the Fisters.

12

Witness

I kept my promise with MaryAnne the next day. She was waiting for me at the fort when I got there.

"Shoesth, your eye! What happened to you?" MaryAnne worried.

"Brady," I said. "He beat me up 'cause I wouldn't tell him why the sheriff was at our house." I could see MaryAnne's worry worsen.

"Let's put some new steps on this ladder once and for all." I thought changing the subject might help MaryAnne, and it would take my mind off the pain in my eye. I held up a short piece of wood close to where the broken step had been. "Do you know, this is what I was imagining when I put pencils in your hair."

"What?"

"I pretended I was making a ladder to my fort, right up the back of your braid. The pencils were steps. I thought it was kinda funny until you walked up front. Dumb, huh?"

"You are so funny, Shoesth. Even when you're hurting. I don't know if I will ever figure you out."

I sniffed. "MaryAnne, do you think this is all happening for a reason?"

"All of what?" MaryAnne said.

"I mean, the junk at the hot pond, the secrets, getting beat up. Things weren't like this before. Sometimes I wonder, is there a reason for stuff, or do we just run into dumb things all our life and have to deal with it?"

"There's always a reason," MaryAnne chimed. "Take the ladder in my hair. Alice called it Jacob's ladder. Do you remember me asking you if you know the real Jacob's ladder?"

"Kind of."

"You said no, you didn't know the real Jacob's ladder and that it didn't matter. Well, the real Jacob's ladder is Jesus. Jacob saw a ladder to heaven in a dream and he saw angels going up and down. It's a picture of Jesus—the only way to heaven. Me sitting in front of you happened for a reason, Shoesth. Same with Alice getting mad at me and your pencil hitting her in the head. If all that never happened, you wouldn't know the answer to the question!"

"Have you been hanging out with Mrs. Krebbs?" I said.

MaryAnne pursed. "Shoesth! I'm serious. God has a plan for you and for me!"

"That's the same thing Mrs. Krebbs told me! Now you're getting weird."

"I don't talk to Mrs. Krebbs," MaryAnne said. "My Daddy reads to Mama and me every night when he can, mostly the big stories from the Bible. Doesn't your dad read to you too?"

"No. We go to church for that," I retorted. "Sorry I asked."

MaryAnne fell quiet. I pounded six nails into the new step so it wouldn't fall off this time. I drove the last nail real hard, then hung the hammer on it by its claw and turned on MaryAnne. "So you think that there is a reason I got beat up by Brady!"

"Yup," MaryAnne said with certainty.

"Okay, so tell me, why did Brady punch me in the face?"

"Shoesth," MaryAnne started with concern, "It brought you to thinking about why things happen. And it brought you to hearing about the only way to heaven. I think that's why Brady punched you in the face."

I had no words for that. MaryAnne was too complicated to understand. It pained me to figure her out and my head hurt enough already.

***

Mama had me at the co-op again that week. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Jimmy Saddlekamp was at the register. Jimmy was a kid I could like. He was only two grades ahead of me and already he knew how to run his dad's store. We exchanged hi's before I took to getting Mama's things. I was in the back aisle looking for ginger when the bell on the door jingled. I heard Jimmy say, "Good morning, Mrs. Hawthorne. Hi, Buffa—um, Alice."

"Good morning, James," Mrs. Hawthorne replied with a sing-song. "Are the peaches in yet?"

"No, ma'am," Jimmy replied. "We don't see them until well after the Fourth. You'll know it 'cause we'll have cases displayed right up front here like always."

"Perhaps you or your father will alert me as soon as they come in," Mrs. Hawthorne said sweetly. I stopped looking for ginger to focus on listening.

"Mom!" It was Buffalo's voice—clearly irritated. "Let's go. Dad will be expecting dinner."

That was the first time I heard Buffalo concerned about either of her parents. Come to think of it, that was the first time I heard Buffalo concerned about anyone.

"Well, really, Alice! How will you ever turn the heads of handsome men treating them like that!" The bell on the door jingled again. "You'll be fending for yourself one of these . . ." The door slammed, then all went quiet.

I finally found ginger and picked up the sugar Mama wanted. Necco Wafers caught my eye near the checkout. I was sure Mama wouldn't mind if I got a roll for me. I picked one out, then set my things on the counter to be rung up.

"Wow, Jimmy," I said, half-kidding, "Mrs. Hawthorne is nice to you!"

"Tell me about it," Jimmy said with a look of disgust.

"She always like that?" I asked.

"Lately, yes. But she gives me the creeps." Jimmy pushed buttons on the register until my total popped up in the little window. "You know what's really creepy?"

I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I looked out the window of the door to see that the street was still lifeless. "What?" I said.

Jimmy leaned toward me, even though the place was empty. "Buffalo came in here the other day and started rambling on, like she was giving me some good advice. She said, 'Tell your dad not to push back on my mother. He should do what she says.' I asked her what she meant by that. She said, 'Just tell him to do what she asks or my mother will make him look bad to my pa. And Pa can get real angry. Then your dad will be like the last one that said no—floating in the hot pond. Just do what she says, I'm telling ya.' " Jimmy stood straight up again. "That girl is weird."

I looked agape at him for a moment. "What do you make of all that?" I asked.

"I'm not sure. I told my dad about it; he said don't be too chummy with them." Jimmy continued, "Buffalo's always pushing someone around. But that was low—taking a sad accident like what happened to the Stueck brothers and turning it into her own threat. I think she likes to make herself scarier than she already is." Jimmy made change from the dollar I gave him.

"Sounds like you'd better tell Mrs. Hawthorne when the peaches come in," I concluded.

Mama's cookie mix was waiting for ginger when I got back home. Mama wondered what took me so long.

"It's hard to find ginger, Mama," I said. "I'm going back out for a while."

"Don't be long, Shoe. Lunch is in an hour," Mama reminded me as I ran out the door straight toward MaryAnne's.

I knocked on the front door of the DuPree's as loud as I dared, hoping MaryAnne's dad would be working at home. It was her mother who answered instead. She was a pretty lady if any lady was pretty. Her light-pink flared-out dress wasn't the kind of house dress Mama wore during workdays. Mrs. DuPree always looked like she was going somewhere real nice.

"Oh, hello, Shoe," she said. "What brings you here?" Mrs. DuPree had a smile as bright as MaryAnne's but she didn't have the dimples to match; or the red hair.

"Is Mr. DuPree home?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I need to talk with him, please," I pressed.

"Let me take you to his desk room," she said. Mrs. DuPree led me to a doorway off their front room.

"Why, Mr. Makinen," Mr. DuPree said. "Have a seat."

He got up and closed the door behind me. I sat down in a chair next to his desk. A shiny black telephone stood tall in front of me. I had only known the telephone hanging on the wall at the Co-op. Never had I seen one on a desk. Nor had I seen one in somebody's house.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. DuPree asked as he sat in his swivel chair.

"I heard something that I thought you should know," I said tentatively.

"Oh? What is that?"

"Buffalo came into the Co-op and threatened Jimmy's dad to do what he's told!"

"Buffalo?" Mr. DuPree looked confused.

"Buffalo Alice. That's Alice Hawthorne," I explained.

"Okay, Arthur. Slow down. Now tell me again what Jimmy said."

I told Mr. DuPree what Jimmy had said, near as I could remember it. Mr. DuPree scribbled on a tablet of paper. At one point he asked, "Did he say anything more about Mrs. Hawthorne making Mr. Saddlekamp look bad to Mr. Hawthorne? Anything about setting him up, or making him out to be something he wasn't?"

"No, not that I know of." I wasn't sure where Mr. DuPree was going with that.

"Sounds like I need to make a visit to the Saddlekamps," Mr. DuPree said as he put his pencil down. "Anything else?"

"That's it!" I said, ready to leave and have a normal day.

Mr. DuPree looked deep in thought. "Make sure you don't say anything about this to Alice Hawthorne. Things could get real messy."

"Oh, believe me, I don't say anything to Buffalo Alice unless someone's life is on the line—like the time she pushed MaryAnne after church."

"Okay," said Mr. DuPree. "We need things kept tight; just a little longer."

MaryAnne stood outside the door when I came out of her dad's desk room. She held her chin down, smiling at me with her eyes. I wished I knew how she did that.

Mr. DuPree saw me to the door. "Thank you, Arthur; not a word now, right?"

"Right!"

13

A Visit to MaryAnne's

A brand-new flag flew over the post office on the last day of June. I could see the top of the pole and the flag's bright-red stripes all the way from the other side of our alley. Different at Stoney Creek is sure to stand out.

Mama had saddled me with a sack of rhubarb to bring to the DuPrees. She said Mrs. DuPree was baking pies and wanted to make one with rhubarb. I was glad to bring it. We already had rhubarb pie, rhubarb jam, rhubarb sauce, rhubarb crisp, and rhubarb coffee cake. Still, our rhubarb was just as thick as when I picked it the first time. I put the sack under one arm and wobbled my bike with the other hand until I got up enough speed. Mail would be in by now, so I decided to stop there first. The white building came into full view at the end of our alley along with a brand-new Chevrolet parked out front. I admired it from a distance, then dropped my bike off the road to take a closer look at its shiny radiator shell. The step plate on the running board glimmered more than my best nickel. I set my sack down to peer inside at the pedals, the levers, and the shiny black steering wheel.

"What do you think, son?" Mr. Saddlekamp's voice startled me. I bumped my head on the side of the car door on the way out. "It's a Series F Superior. Just drove it home this morning," he said.

"Wow," I replied, rubbing the back of my head. "Haven't seen a car that new before."

"Our first automobile," Mr. Saddlekamp said. His chest pushed out just a little further than normal as his eyes remained locked on the car.

I ogled with him. "It's the shiniest car in town—just in time for the parade!"

Mr. Saddlekamp smiled at me as he pulled the door open. "Mail's in, if that's what you came for."

"Thank you, sir," I said. I grabbed the rhubarb and moved to the post office porch to get out of the way. The car's engine purred quietly when it started. I noticed the whitewall tires were nearly as bright as the new flag overhead. I watched the Chevy all the way down the main road until it was just a small puff of dust.

Mr. Kingman didn't have any letters for us, not that I expected any. It was still fun to check the mail, kinda like checking traps.

"Do you have any mail for the DuPrees?" I asked Mr. Kingman.

"Why, you going up that way?" he said.

"Yes, sir. I gotta bring them rhubarb. Thought I'd take their mail, too."

"You're in luck," said Mr. Kingman. "One small box for Adrien DuPree."

With the box under one arm and the sack in the same hand, I managed to get my bike going again after a few tries. My arm ached when I arrived. MaryAnne answered the door.

"Hi, Shoesth!" she said with surprise.

"I brought some rhubarb from Mom." I held the sack out to her. "And I got your mail, too," I said.

MaryAnne couldn't hold both. "Why don't you come in," she said over the sack.

I stepped into the smell of Murphy's Oil Soap. Must be a clean floor, I thought. The kitchen was very orderly—something I hadn't noticed last time when I rushed in to see Mr. DuPree. A sign hung high on the wall over the doorway to the front room:

"Choose this day whom ye will serve; ... but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

–Joshua 24:15

Seemed odd to me, since Mr. DuPree wasn't a pastor. Mrs. DuPree was mixing something by the sink. "Oh, hi, Arthur," she said, stopping her stirring to look at me. "Or should I call you Shoes?"

"It's Shoe," I said. "Most people call me Shoe."

"I'm sorry . . . Shoe. You can put the package down on the table. Thank you for doing that."

I put the box on a place mat. The table was empty except for six perfectly arranged placemats and a vase with one flower in it. I didn't ask why they had six placemats since there were only three of them. That would be rude.

MaryAnne interjected, "Shoesth, do you want to stay for a while?" Before I could answer she turned to her mother, "Can Shoesth stay a while, Mama?

"Oh, sure," Mrs. DuPree replied. "I'm mixing up crust for pasties if you want to join us for dinner."

"No, ma'am. I mean, I could stay for a bit, but I didn't tell Mama that I would be out for dinner."

Mrs. DuPree used a dishrag to wipe a bit of flour off the countertop.

"Good!" MaryAnne expressed her delight by standing on her tippy toes.

I wasn't sure what we would do in such a neat, clean house, yet I was interested to find out. MaryAnne showed me to the front room.

"Let's play Tiddlywinks." MaryAnne took a box from the end table.

"O-o-kay," I said. Tiddlywinks wasn't exactly my idea of fun. I'd rather play marbles in the sand, shoot slingshots, anything. I had tried Tiddlywinks once but not with colorful winks like this or on such a smooth carpet that went from one wall nearly to the other. Being new to their house, I said okay. At least it wasn't dolls.

MaryAnne set the game up just inside the doorway from the kitchen. She started out by shooting her first wink into the pot. Now I could see why she liked this game. I shot next. The wink popped up and landed on MaryAnne's dress. She thought it was funny.

Sounds of Mr. DuPree's voice came through the door off the front room as we played. "What's your dad do in there all day?" I asked.

"Work. He's not in there all day." MaryAnne talked without taking her eye off the center pot, shooting three winks in a row. I was glad when she finally beat me. It was plain she was energized by her victory.

"Want to play again?" she asked.

"Nah." I wrinkled my nose for emphasis.

"Then what do you want to do?"

"How about spy on the spy?"

"What do you mean?" MaryAnne puzzled.

"Let's play spy on the spy. You and me can be the spies, and we'll spy on your dad, who is the real spy!" I said with vigor.

MaryAnne lifted one eyebrow at me. "Okay," she said.

"Follow me!" I got down on my belly. "Now be real quiet," I whispered.

We crawled like thieves across the front room to the opposite wall, making sure the spy didn't see us. Then we wriggled on our bellies behind the davenport toward the open crack in the door to Mr. DuPree's desk room. I motioned MaryAnne to stop, holding my finger over my lips. Mr. DuPree was saying something.

"Not yet," Mr. DuPree said.

Nobody replied. It sounded like he was talking on his telephone.

"Not yet, I'm telling you. We don't have the motive nailed down," he said to someone on the other end of the phone.

MaryAnne whispered, "What is it?"

I shushed her with a wave of my hand.

"If we move now, it won't stand in court. We're missing some piece of evidence that ties Hawthorne's wife to Dietrich Stueck." Mr. DuPree was quiet again. Then he continued. "I know it was nearly a year ago. I'm just telling you, without it, we have nothing on Hawthorne or Malvern." There was a pause again. "Yes, I understand. Give me two more weeks. Just two more weeks." He paused. "Thank you, Sheriff Downing. Yes, good-bye."

I heard Mr. DuPree hang the receiver on the phone, then I heard his chair push away from the desk. I scrambled backwards on my elbows; MaryAnne scooted behind me. We made it behind the davenport in the nick of time. My heart pounded against the floor.

Mr. DuPree walked through the front room to the kitchen. I whispered to MaryAnne, "That was close. Did you hear what he was saying?"

"I little. But not all of it," she said.

I filled MaryAnne in. "He was talking to the sheriff. Something about needing evidence that Mrs. Hawthorne had something to do with Dietrich."

"That's strange," said MaryAnne.

"Yeah, I know. Let's get out of here. I don't think your dad would be too happy finding us like this."

We crawled out from behind the davenport, then quietly made our way out the front door. Oscar came round the house to us. He must have found my bike. MaryAnne scratched his ears. Then we instinctively started down the road in case her dad was looking for us. "How do you live with all the mystery in your house?" I asked.

"I guess I didn't know it was mystery before. I just thought my daddy was working, doing boring paperwork. It wasn't until I met you that it was a mystery." MaryAnne spoke with a tinge of regret in her voice.

"Now we're right in the middle of it," I said. "You aren't blaming me, are you?"

"No, I'm not blaming you. It's just that things are so different now," she said softly.

"Tell me about it!" I said. "This was a quiet town with no big problems before you moved to Stoney Creek. I think you would have liked it."

"No big problems that you knew about," MaryAnne corrected.

"What do you mean?"

"No big problems that you knew about. When we moved here there were already big problems at Stoney Creek, you just didn't know about them yet," she concluded.

"I guess you're right," I admitted. "But now we're in it together." We stopped to pick a wild plum off the volunteer tree by the road. Dad calls them volunteers 'cause nobody planted 'em there. I picked one and tossed it to Oscar. He caught it midair, as always, chewed it for a moment, then dropped it on the ground.

I reached high for the darkest purple plum then handed it to MaryAnne. "Still friends?" I said.

"Still friends."

14

Problem at the Parade

The Independence Day Parade of 1924 promised to be a lot like the others—before last year. A buzz of energy filled the air. The Fourth of July being on Friday made for a long weekend, so folks were making plans. Dad would bring all of us to Grandma and Grandpa's in Maple Hill on Saturday to spend the night. Ricky and I liked going there, even though it was a couple bumpy hours by wagon. We liked it 'cause Grandma made special things to eat. Most times there was a meal on the stove and cookies in the jar.

MaryAnne told me they weren't going anywhere. She said her relatives were in Lower Michigan and they didn't know anyone outside of Stoney Creek. Lower Michigan was way more than a hundred miles away. Dad said Chicago was closer. I couldn't help feeling bad for her.

MaryAnne told me, "Oh, don't mind me. I'm used to it."

I didn't believe her. We had been friends long enough. And I had seen plenty of her tears. I knew she missed family. One time in front of the Co-op she asked me, "What's it like having a brother?"

I had just sent Ricky home with Mama's things. MaryAnne and I sat down on the steps. "Oh, it's fine," I said.

She pressed for more. "What I mean is, what's it like having another boy in your house, not just parents? Is he kind of special to you?"

"Special?" I had never thought of Ricky like that.

MaryAnne continued, "Yeah! He's not just another kid at school, or a friend down the street. I wonder sometimes what that would be like. What if I had a sister—someone I could do things with, tell stories to. Maybe just laugh." MaryAnne propped her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees. "She would be something special," she said, gazing across the street.

"I never thought of it that way," I admitted. "Ricky is kinda irritating most of the time. He brings dead things into our room and leaves them there. One time I found a toad inside my bed—after it started stinkin'. And!" I wanted to emphasize my last point, "Ricky talks more than any kid I know!"

MaryAnne tilted her arms over to look at me from the corner of her eye. She gave an endearing grin as if to say that she liked all the talking Ricky did.

It was clear MaryAnne didn't understand me. "I remember before Ricky was born. It was just me and Dad and Mama. I had Mama all to myself. I liked it that way. Then one day Ricky showed up; the house got loud. I remember feeling like Mama didn't have time for me anymore. And before long I was sharing my bedroom." I paused for emphasis. "MaryAnne, you have it pretty good. Do you see what I mean?"

MaryAnne's chin didn't leave her hands. "He's an image-bearer too, ya know."

"Image-bearer? What do you mean—you call Buffalo that, and Ricky the same name?"

"Yeah. They're both image-bearers," she said.

"So what is this—something you made up?" I was weary of MaryAnne's mysterious sayings.

"No. I didn't make it up," she said. "Daddy read to us that we are all created in God's image. Boys and girls, every person. Daddy said that means we are all bearers of God's image." MaryAnne took her chin out of her hands after Oscar licked her face. She sat up straight and looked at me. "So if Alice bears God's image, then that would make her an image-bearer, and Ricky, too."

I wasn't buying it. "I've seen pictures of God and I don't think Buffalo Alice looks anything like him."

"I don't think that's what it means, being made in God's image," MaryAnne said.

I sat quietly for a time. It's the best thing when a girl doesn't make sense.

MaryAnne was first to break the peace. "You're the one that has it pretty good, Shoesth. I would think it very special to have a little brother like Ricky."

There was sadness in her voice. That's why I didn't believe it when she said she wasn't bothered that folks were leaving town to visit family.

It was the day before the Fourth. Mama was busy making her best pie for the church bake sale. The Ladies Aid was selling pies again. This year it was going to be an auction. The highest bidder would win the pie, and maybe the eye of the lady who baked it. Mama said she was simply helping out the church. Dad took no chances. He assured Mama that he had set enough aside to be Mama's highest bidder. She liked that.

Mr. Kingman got a bunch of us kids to help pick up junk from the main road so it would look good for the parade. We sweltered in the afternoon heat looking for any bit of trash. Even Ernie was there. He didn't say much, just kept his head down while sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Turned out to be a good thing for picking trash. The best part was when I spied an Indian head in the sand by the Co-op. It was a 1908 penny—enough for Necco Wafers when I was done. We spent most our time in front of INO's picking up bottle caps and cigarette butts between the horse droppings.

When we finished Mr. Kingman said, "Looks like it's just about time for a parade!" We all gazed at the road. I hadn't seen dirt that clean, ever.

***

The mill whistle blasted long and loud on the morning of the Fourth. That was tradition. It was the only noise the mill made on Independence Day. I rushed through breakfast, then morning chores to be in town at the doings. The pie contest was to be held in the morning before other things got started. Mama said the ladies didn't want pies to go bad in the heat. I was in the church yard early. So was Mrs. Krebbs. She banged through the open doorway with two chairs in hand, about to set them out on the grass. Just as I thought about a reason to turn around, it was too late.

"Well, happy Independence, Arthur," said Mrs. Krebbs.

"Ah, yeah, you too," I said.

"What a blessing this nice weather is that the Lord gave us today," she said with her usual smile. Mrs. Krebbs ambled down the steps, positioned the chairs on the grass, then moved them again to just the right spot. "You came just in time; would you like to help me bring out tables for the pie contest?" she said, squinting my way.

"Ah, sure," I lied.

Mrs. Krebbs led the way into the empty church building where the potluck tables were. They were the two tables that were used whenever the church had a potluck. I don't remember the last time that was.

"You lift the front, Arthur," Mrs. Krebbs said. "I'll get the back."

I heaved on the front of the table with my hands behind my back and wondered how Mrs. Krebbs would lift anything at all. I looked over my shoulder and saw that she was lifting, but the table wasn't comin' off the floor. I managed to drag it out the door and onto the grass anyway.

"You're a strong young man," Mrs. Krebbs said. "A warrior in the making."

I was still looking for a way out of my predicament when that phrase caught me. I liked the idea of kings and knights, of conflict, of victory.

I dropped my end of the table. "A warrior?" I blurted involuntarily.

"Yes, Arthur." Mrs. Krebbs squinted my way. "You may be a warrior in the making. You're a strong young man with a good head on your shoulders. But you need to be in Christ's army. A warrior for the Lord."

My blank stare must have registered something with Mrs. Krebbs.

"You're not following me, are you, son."

I wasn't. But it bothered me that she and MaryAnne were sounding a lot alike. I shrugged at her for my answer. "We should get that other table," I said. Changing the subject seemed to be the right thing to do if I was ever going to see my way out of there. By the time I finished with Mrs. Krebbs, others began to arrive. I never did leave.

Mrs. Saddlekamp brought a pie and draped ribbon around the edges of the tables to—as she said—"fancy it up a smidge." She shooed Oscar away when his nose caught wind of the pie.

The DuPrees had come, too. MaryAnne put their pie on the table with the others.

"Nice pie," I said in greeting. "Your mom must be a good cook."

"It's my pie, Shoesth."

"Yours?"

"Yes." MaryAnne stifled a grin.

"I didn't know you could bake," I said.

"I haven't told you everything," she responded curtly. MaryAnne turned to join her mom and dad on the blanket they laid out under the big cottonwood. Her hair was done in one big braid again, laced this time with red and blue ribbons from the top to the very bottom.

The pie auction started folks in a good mood. Some were laughing, others were clapping. Mr. Edgar Hawthorne was asked to do the auction on account of his booming voice. Dad won Mama's pie for $1.80. I saw him wink at her on his way back from the table. Mama blushed.

When MaryAnne's pie came up Mr. Hawthorne barked, "The next pie is rhubarb with a fancy crust design on the top. This one was made by little Miss MaryAnne DuPree!" An "o-o-oh" rose from the audience. "Do I hear an opening bid for this lovely rhubarb pie by Miss DuPree?"

I'd had enough rhubarb to last me the next two summers. But I was determined to try for my friend's pie.

"Anyone? Do we have an opening bid?"

I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mr. Makinen, what is your bid?"

"Five cents." It was all I had.

"Five cents from the young man in the front row!"

"Do we have another bid?"

"One dollar!"

I spun around to see Kip Stinson waving his hand from near the cottonwood. It was bad enough that Kip scorned my bell ringing. Now he messed up the pie contest. I slunk away from the gathering the first chance I got to go wait for the parade.

***

The parade would start up at Red Town, come down the hill to Main Street, past the school, in front of INO's, the Co-op, the post office, then would peter out past the church. I waited with Mom and Dad and Ricky by the Co-op. Ricky dawdled in the road, filling his pockets with rocks and trying to ride Oscar. Oscar was quick to trot away every time Ricky tried to mount.

Mr. and Mrs. Kingman sat in chairs across the road in front of the Post Office next to Lawrence Blankenshine. Funny seeing him there. Lawrence said something to Mr. Kingman. Mr. Kingman feigned he wasn't there. Lawrence would most likely be gone in a moment anyway.

Mr. DuPree stopped by next to Dad. Mrs. DuPree and MaryAnne stood nearby. I didn't look that way.

Buffalo Alice anchored an area up the road from Kip Stinson. Looked like she wouldn't be showing in the parade again this year. Buffalo didn't look happy, which is how Buffalo looked.

The sheriff was nowhere to be found. That was fine with me. And nobody brought their long faces this year. Folks were jovial about the day off and a celebration to boot.

"Thanks for bidding on my pie."

I turned to see MaryAnne's timid smile. Then I rolled my eyes.

"Did Kip win it?" I asked.

MaryAnne grimaced at me.

"How about a Necco?" I said, holding out a wafer to her.

"Thank you," MaryAnne said softly.

I looked down the street at the honk of a horn. Mr. Johnson led the parade. He had mounted a rusty car horn on the front of his buckboard. Both mules jittered at the noise.

"Get out of the street, Ricky!" Mama hollered.

Right behind the Johnson wagon was Mr. Saddlekamp, driving his shiny new Chevy, with Mrs. Saddlekamp smiling for all the world. Jimmy was riding in the back, happier than any kid with a real car. He looked my way. I stared.

Five kids from the new kindergarten class came next.

"Oh, cute!" exclaimed MaryAnne.

The biggest boy was out front dragging a flag on a stick. One of the two girls fancied herself as Princess Royal. The other wailed louder than Saddlekamp's new horn. She had to have been crying since Red Town for a shirt that wet. Her eyes puffed shut, making her bump into the kid with drawers covering the bare minimum. None were ready for school, near as I could make of it. Ricky would have fit right in.

Hanging well behind rumbled Hawthorne's red Columbia. Hanging on their radiator was the same old sign, aged one more year, "Hawthorne's Mill at Stoney Creek." Mr. Hawthorne's cigar was out cold. He looked tired, not sitting as tall as I remember. Perhaps the auctioneering did him in.

Mrs. Hawthorne made a sweeping wave across the street at Kip Stinson, soaking in all the eyes that fell upon her. The yellow hat perched on top of Mrs. Hawthorne's head as it always had for every parade—including the blue feather sticking out the side.

Except that the blue feather wasn't blue.

My eyes riveted on a sight I hadn't remembered, something different at Stoney Creek.

Mrs. Hawthorne's yellow hat was adorned with a red feather.

My mind raced to the Blankenshine's porch and the blue feather in Lawrence's hand. Could it be Mrs. Hawthorne's? I thought.

I turned to MaryAnne. "Mrs. Hawthorne has a red feather in her hat."

"So what?"

MaryAnne didn't know what I was talking about. But how could she? MaryAnne had not seen a Stoney Creek parade before.

My thoughts whirled. Did Mrs. Hawthorne wear the same feather in her hat last Independence? I mostly remembered Sheriff across the street with his gun prominently displayed on his hip.

I looked to the other side for Lawrence. He was gone.

"I'll see ya later," I said to MaryAnne, then ran across the street and down the road where the parade was headed. I ran past the Hawthorne's car, the school kids, and Jimmy in the back seat before I caught up with Lawrence following alongside Johnson's buckboard.

"Lawrence!" It was as if he didn't hear me. I tapped him on the shoulder. "Lawrence!"

Lawrence stopped, then turning his back to the parade, looked me straight into one eye. "Sho-o-o-o."

I yelled above the clamor of the rusty horn. "Lawrence, the feather; do you have the blue feather?"

Lawrence furrowed his eyebrows at me. "My feather?"

"Yes, your feather," I said. "Lawrence, where is it?"

Lawrence reached into the front pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a rumpled blue feather.

The howling kindergartner passed by again, wailing long enough to make you scream. "Where did you get the feather, Lawrence?"

Lawrence kept his back to the noise and trained his eye on the quill. I waited for an answer. The next long pause pained me.

Then, almost inaudibly, Lawrence said, "Dietrich's back pocket."

The Hawthorne's red Columbia rumbled slowly past within a long arm's distance from Lawrence. Lawrence's eye didn't leave the feather. This time he said it loudly and slowly, "Dietrich Stueck's back po-ck-et."

15

Turmoil

Suddenly the conversation MaryAnne and I overheard at her house came back to me.

"Not yet," Mr. DuPree had said. "Not yet, I'm telling you. We don't have the motive nailed down." He was speaking to someone on the other end of the phone. "If we move now, it won't stand in court. We're missing a piece of evidence that ties Hawthorne's wife to Dietrich Stueck. Without it, we have nothing on Hawthorne or Malvern."

I bolted back up the road, leaving Lawrence staring at his feather. I needed to see Mr. DuPree at once. The tail end of the parade had just passed by the Co-op where the DuPrees were standing with Dad, Mama, and Ricky. People were starting to wander into the street.

"There he is!" Ricky exclaimed when he saw me comin' through the crowd.

"Where did you go?" Dad wanted to know.

"I had to see Lawrence Blankenshine," I said, out of breath.

"Why on earth? In the midst of the parade?" Mama didn't look too pleased.

I looked back at Dad. "I need to speak with Mr. DuPree right away. Is it okay if we talk, just me and him?"

Dad nodded his head as if he understood.

Mama didn't. "What is the rush? Does there always have to be a big secret around here?" Her voice faded off as Mr. DuPree led me to the other side of the Co-op where the weeds stood taller than me.

"What's the matter, Arthur?" Mr. DuPree inquired.

"Lawrence has the blue feather!"

Mr. DuPree didn't flinch. Perhaps he needed more.

"Lawrence Blankenshine has the blue feather that Mrs. Hawthorne always wore in her yellow hat. She's had it every parade that I can remember, except I can't remember if it was in her hat last Independence on account of the sheriff being there and I wasn't watching the parade much. Now she wears a red feather. That's what caught my eye today when—"

Mr. DuPree gripped my shoulder. "Arthur, stop. What does a feather in Mrs. Hawthorne's hat have to do with anything?"

Just then Buffalo Alice walked past the corner of the Co-op and stopped near the weeds we were standing in. She gawked at us like we were breaking the law. Mr. DuPree and I returned the stare until she hoofed it down the walk.

Mr. DuPree resumed our conversation. "Like I said, Arthur, what does a feather have to do with anything?"

I purposed to slow my breathing. "Well, everyone knows that Lawrence Blankenshine was the one who found Dietrich in the hot pond that night."

"Yes, and...?" Mr. DuPree baited.

I pondered whether I should tell him about playing spy on the spy, about hearing his telephone conversation with the sheriff.

"Sir," I hesitated again. "Mr. DuPree, I know I shouldn't have been listening to you at your house, but MaryAnne and I were just having fun playing spy. That's when I heard you say you were missing something that ties Mr. Hawthorne's wife to Dietrich."

Mr. DuPree went rigid. "You're right, that was none of your business, Mr. Makinen."

"But Mr. DuPree," I interceded, "I asked Lawrence just now where he got the blue feather; he said, 'Dietrich Stueck's back pocket'!"

Mr. DuPree went from stern to stunned. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die, sure!" I said.

Mr. DuPree held his finger to my face. "Not a word now?!"

I understood. "Not a word," I said.

The road had cleared except for a few small groups milling around. Mrs. DuPree visited with the ladies, leaving MaryAnne by herself. I snuck up behind her to even the score for the scare she gave me at the creek. In position to pounce, my arms reaching toward her shoulders, I stopped mid-stride smack in the center of "America the Beautiful."

MaryAnne sang softly to herself,

America! America!

God shed His grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood,

From sea to shining sea.

MaryAnne's voice rang more pure than the church bell. My drive to affright drained. I lowered my hands, tugged her red ribbon and said, "boo."

MaryAnne stopped singing. "Wow, you're scary. What did you have to talk to Dad about?"

"Not a word!" I said with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, I see," MaryAnne said. Her high brow told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"We might have to take a walk by the Blankenshine's," I hinted.

MaryAnne hesitated. "You're not getting me into trouble again, are you, Shoesth?"

"Just looking around," I tried to reassure MaryAnne. There rose a twinge of fear in me about what was happening in our town and at the same time, a surge of excitement. I didn't want to miss out, and I wasn't going alone. "There's nothing wrong with taking a walk and looking around, is there?"

"I suppose not," MaryAnne said.

We strolled down the main road past INO's. Metal clanged as guys playing horseshoes oohed over pitches that landed close. The horseshoe pits were busy when the mill was down. Nearly all the guys had a bottle in hand when they weren't throwing shoes. Not Dad. He competed hard like the others, without holding a bottle. I don't know of a time when I saw Dad drink.

"Stay!" I said to Oscar, 'cause I didn't want him to give us away once we got to the Blankenshine's. Oscar put his tail down and trotted back to the horseshoe throwers.

Kip Stinson walked up the road toward us. "That was a scrumptious pie, MaryAnne," Kip said as he got closer, with a smile bigger than his face.

"Thank you," said MaryAnne, turning toward him as he passed.

It irked me that all the girls liked Kip. He was tall, smooth with words, smartly dressed, and good at baseball. One time I overheard girls on the playground say he was handsome. I didn't know how any girl could find a guy handsome. Guys were gawky. I did know that I would never be like Kip. And I wasn't going to try. I was short, mostly uncoordinated, and short for words. My plain clothes were just fine for fishin' and trappin', and doing lots of real neat things.

"What's so great about Kip?" I snipped at MaryAnne.

"What do you mean?" she said, trying to play innocent with me.

"Why do you like him?"

"I don't like him." MaryAnne furrowed at me. "He's an old guy! All I said was thank you!"

"I saw you smile."

"Stop it, Shoesth! Can't I be polite to someone? You're funny!" MaryAnne hauled off and punched me in the arm.

That felt better.

MaryAnne and I kept on toward the school, which would take us in front of Blankenshine's yard. The rumble of a motorcar in the distance caught our attention. It came fast, followed by a billowing cloud of dust. It zoomed past the school and skidded to a halt on Blankenshine's grass.

"Come on!" MaryAnne followed as I ran down the ditch on the mill side of the road, then hid behind one of the trees in the row.

Sheriff Downing got out of the car and knocked on the door. There was a long wait. He knocked again.

MaryAnne whispered loudly, "Looks like nobody's home."

Sheriff turned around on the porch as he waited at the door.

"Get down," I said as I dropped to my knees and ducked my head below the grass.

MaryAnne's face was practically in mine. Her big eyes flashed me a warning. "You're going to get us both in trouble again!"

I heard a door open and peered out of the ditch. Mrs. Blankenshine had found her way to the door and had let Sheriff in.

"Let's go," MaryAnne urged.

"No," I said. "They might see us. Let's find out what happens."

We had to wait only a moment. MaryAnne's dad arrived, walking briskly from downtown. He got to the front walk of the Blankenshine's just as Sheriff exited the house with Lawrence. Mr. DuPree helped Lawrence into the car, and it rumbled back in the direction it came from.

"What do you make of that?" MaryAnne said.

I stood up to stretch my legs. "I think they're taking Lawrence someplace where they can ask him questions," I said knowingly. "Kinda exciting, isn't it?"

"I don't like the idea of my dad doing dangerous things," said MaryAnne. "It gets me all turned up inside. Things were so much better before."

"He was doing dangerous things then, too," I said. "You just didn't know about it."

"Yeah. It was better then," MaryAnne said with regret.

***

The sun was setting when the Kingmans and Saddlekamps lit sparklers in the road for us kids to watch. Sparklers were always the last of Independence Day excitement that most folks stayed around for. Except the Hawthornes. They never did like to hang around townsfolk. Mr. Saddlekamp had lit one big sparkler that brightened faces all around. Nobody knew then that there would be bigger fireworks that night.

Suddenly, everyone's attention turned to a wailing horn unlike any that ever was heard. The sound pitched high, then low, high, then low, like the up and down of a seesaw. Two cars turned off of the State Road onto Red Town Road. The evening's dim light was still bright enough for me to make out a white star on the door of both autos. It was the first time I'd heard a siren, and the first time I saw two police cars. Sheriff Downing's Motor Patrol didn't have a siren, so folks knew something big was happening.

Halfway up the hill, both sets of headlights pulled into the drive at Hawthorne's mansion. We called it a mansion 'cause it had three floors and four pillars for a front porch. The house overlooked the mill pond and pretty much most of town.

MaryAnne had been watching fireworks on the other side of the ring of kids. She looked across at me just as I looked at her. We didn't have to say nothin' 'cause we both knew what we were gonna do.

I took off first. MaryAnne bolted right behind.

Someone said, "What is going on?"

Me and MaryAnne sprinted toward the State Road, then across and up the hill. The run was longer than the run to our fort, yet we made it in record time. We turned off of Red Town Road into the ditch and up the hill through the woods, until we were in the brush at the edge of Hawthorne's roundabout. MaryAnne and I settled where we could spy the front door of the house between both cars.

The sheriffs were already inside the house. Voices came from the open entrance door.

"Let go of me, you brute!" screamed Mrs. Hawthorne. "Do you think I'm some kind of criminal? Don't treat me like that!" she snarled.

Before long, Sheriff Downing led Mrs. Hawthorne out in front of the pillars. He opened the door of the patrol car and turned Mrs. Hawthorne around to get her in. Mrs. Hawthorne's hands were cuffed behind her back!

I looked at MaryAnne. She stared at the scene with unblinking eyes.

Mr. Hawthorne's voice boomed as he was led out the door with his hands behind his back. "Do you know who I am? You're going to hear from my attorney about this!"

The other sheriff pushed on Mr. Hawthorne's head to squeeze him into the car. Then he slammed the door shut and looked toward Sheriff Downing at the driver's side of the other car.

"Now, let's get Malvern," he said.

Me and MaryAnne ducked a little lower into our brush cover.

The two got into their vehicles, turned them around, and then headed down the driveway. Turning up toward Red Town where Sarge Malvern lived, the patrol siren began to wail once again.

I looked back toward the house. There in the doorway stood Buffalo Alice. Her mouth hung agape as her eyes stared right through the woods we were hiding in. She was draped in what must have been her pajamas—a large, long, yellow gown that hovered just above the door sill.

I didn't dare breathe. Buffalo stayed there until the wail of the siren stopped abruptly. Then she took a very slow step backward and shut herself inside.

We remained still for a couple minutes after the door latched, stunned by what we had just witnessed.

"What about Alice?" MaryAnne gasped.

Before I could say anything, two shots rang out from the top of Red Town hill, followed by three more in quick succession. Those gunshots shivered me to the very bone.

I turned to MaryAnne; her hands shook uncontrollably. She held her fingers over the sides of her mouth while tears fell off her cheeks faster than I'd ever witnessed tears. MaryAnne's kind face had filled with anguish. Without a word, her eyes pled with mine to do something.

But what was I to do? It was dark, shots had been fired, and MaryAnne was sobbing.

"What about Alice?" MaryAnne asked again with a tremor in her voice.

"Let's get out of here." I grabbed MaryAnne's forearm, then stumbled back into the darkness of the woods.

16

Justice Served

"Well, hello, Toivo!" Mr. DuPree said as he entered our backyard.

"Welcome," said Dad, shaking Mr. DuPree's hand.

Mrs. DuPree hugged Mama hello.

Mama allowed for a one-handed hug back, then pulled away quickly. "So-o glad you could come," she said. "We've been looking forward to having you folks over for so long! It's just crazy how busy things get and how fast the summer has gone."

"Thank you for inviting us," said Mrs. DuPree, looking down at Oscar whacking her dress with his tail.

Ricky pounded the screen door open, "Hi, MaryAnne! You know what?"

"What?" MaryAnne responded politely, placing her hands on her knees and bending over to meet Ricky's face.

"I'm going to sthschool! In three weeks!" Ricky yelled, holding up two fingers.

MaryAnne recoiled at the volume. "I can tell you're excited," she said graciously, then she looked over at me and smiled.

I rolled my eyes.

Mama had been talking about having the DuPrees over for a meal since the Fourth of July. She seemed unusually chummy with Mrs. DuPree after the arrest of the Hawthornes and the shooting at Red Town. Mama was disappointed with the coverage it had gotten in the paper, and now it was old news for print.

Dad had cautioned her not to pry. "Now, Margaret, some things are just not our business."

"But they're our friends," Mama justified. "I would like to have them over for a meal, and if they want to share anything more, that's completely up to the DuPrees."

Dad wasn't one to argue if there wasn't an important cause to fight. But I think he knew better.

I had been too scared to tell Dad and Mama where I was that fateful night of Independence. Part of me wanted to put it away someplace where it would not be with me anymore. MaryAnne hadn't said another word about it. Twice I'd brought it up and both times she went quiet. I took it that she wanted to forget the whole thing. I suppose I did, too. But I couldn't. There were too many questions left unanswered in the weeks that had passed since that night. I thought about it when I woke in the morning, when I fell asleep, even as I waited for fish to bite at the creek.

"It's such a beautiful day," Mama said, "I thought it would be lovely to eat outside. Dinner's about ready. Shoe, come help with the glasses and the milk; does anyone want water with their dinner?"

I followed after Mama. The whole morning was used up getting ready for the big dinner, helping clean the house, clipping long grass around the porch; I even cleared Ricky's junk out from the old table Dad had made for the yard. Ricky used the underside of it for his fort.

Mama kept me scurrying until we were all seated at the table.

Dad said, "Let's pray. Dear Lord, we thank you for this food that you've blessed us with. Amen."

"Amen," said Mr. DuPree after a pause.

"Guests first," Mama said. "Shoe, send this chicken down to Mr. DuPree. I want you all to eat heartily, there's plenty of food, and more where that came from."

I think Mama always assumed that our guests hadn't eaten in the days leading up to their visit to our house. That's why she pushed food on them. Once everyone had filled their plates, Mama wasted no time.

"So, Adrien, what more can you tell us about the fate of the Hawthornes?" Mama spouted.

Dad glowered across the table at Mama.

"Adrien, I know there are things you can't divulge," Dad said. "You don't need to answer that."

Mama pursed at Dad.

"No, it's okay," said Mr. DuPree. "The case is closed." He took another bite of chicken while we all waited for more. Mr. DuPree swallowed, then rested his fork on his plate. "I do suppose there is much to be answered, especially seeing that our two children were involved."

Mr. DuPree glanced at me. I looked across at MaryAnne, who was pushing carrots around her plate with her knife.

"I'll share what I can, given the mixed company we have here," Mr. DuPree said.

Dad nodded. Mama stared, unblinking.

"This was a difficult investigation," Mr. DuPree started. "Let's just say that the Hawthornes were able to cover their tracks quite well given their prominence here in Stoney Creek. Mr. Hawthorne was an angry man. He employed a supervisor at the mill who was given to fury like himself. Well, you knew him Toivo, Sarge—I think you called him—Sarge Malvern."

Dad grimaced at the memory.

"It seems Mrs. Hawthorne was, well, she liked the attention of young men." Mr. DuPree spoke purposefully, choosing his words as he went. "Dietrich Stueck was one of them," he said. "When Dietrich refused her, she framed him, convincing Mr. Hawthorne that Dietrich had made an advance." Mr. DuPree looked around the table as if to buy time.

MaryAnne still hadn't looked up from her carrots.

Mr. DuPree continued, "What finally set off Mr. Edgar Hawthorne was the hat feather his wife had planted in Dietrich's back pocket. He ordered Malvern to take care of Dietrich at the risk of losing his job. As near as we can tell, Gunther came back to the mill looking for his brother as Malvern was trying to cover his dirty deed. Then Gunther found himself under the same wrath that beset his brother. That's how they both ended up in the hot pond." Mr. DuPree took a sip of his water. "Thankfully, the case didn't have to go to court after Mrs. Hawthorne broke down with a full confession. They'll serve less time because of that, but they won't see the light of day again for many years."

Mr. DuPree seemed satisfied, picked up his fork, and began to eat once again. The table was quiet. Ricky slipped a fried potato onto the grass for Oscar.

MaryAnne broke the silence. "A real-life Potiphar's wife?"

Mr. DuPree swallowed hard on his mouthful. "Yes, you could say that, honey. Potiphar's wife was a real-life person, too. It was just a long time ago. Sin still abounds in lives until those hearts are transformed. We shouldn't be surprised by sin, MaryAnne. But we have to always remember that everyone who commits sin, even terrible sin, can become a new creature in Christ."

Being with MaryAnne, her mom, even her dad, felt like I was in church. They always talked about Jesus like he was something for more than Sunday. I used to think that Mrs. Krebbs was the only one who lived like that.

"It's too bad about Mr. Malvern," MaryAnne said thoughtfully. "He missed his chance to be a new creature."

"Yes, he did, MaryAnne. Mr. Malvern didn't want to face the truth. Instead, he fired on the sheriff, and they had no choice but to defend themselves, honey," said Mr. DuPree. "Not everyone will come to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, but it was available to Malvern, just as it is for all of us."

MaryAnne's eyes looked pained to me. Mr. DuPree put his hand on hers."

"That's why everyone needs to consider their own relationship with Christ, honey. The Lord is not willing that any should perish."

Somehow Mr. DuPree made sense. More than I usually got in church. Still, I was ready for the service to be over.

"We've heard that Alice is doing well at the Koskela's," interjected Mrs. DuPree.

"Oh, that's good to hear," Mama said. "So nice she has somewhere to stay."

"Yes, it is. The Koskelas have fostered other children before." Mrs. DuPree caught herself. "Well, you already know that. The authorities arranged for them to take her for a short time on the Fourth. So far, they said it's going fine, so she's staying there for now."

"So nice of them," Mama affirmed.

Before we were done eating, every dish got passed around three times. Maybe more. "You can't be full yet," Mama said. "Here, have some more carrots. I don't want to see them go to waste! Shoe, honey, please go in and refill the applesauce bowl."

Ugh-h-h! I thought. Not 'Shoe Honey' in front of MaryAnne!

MaryAnne jumped up from her half-finished meal. "I'll come with," she said, apparently looking for an escape.

MaryAnne stopped outside to scratch Oscar's ears. When I came back out with fresh applesauce, Mr. DuPree was speaking again to Dad.

"Like I said, this was a difficult investigation. We had probable cause for Hawthorne's motive, but no hard evidence to tie Mrs. Hawthorne to Dietrich."

MaryAnne stopped petting Oscar and followed me as I put the bowl of applesauce on the table.

Mr. DuPree continued, "It wasn't until your Arthur identified Lawrence's blue feather as the one from Mrs. Hawthorne's hat—then we had enough evidence to make an arrest. If it weren't for Arthur, the case may have never been solved."

"Shoesth!" MaryAnne exclaimed with an expectant smile.

I looked at her sheepishly.

Suddenly, MaryAnne wrapped her arms around me, pinning my arms down at my side. "You're a hero!" she bubbled.

That was weird.

THE END
Epilogue

Sometimes I feel sorry for Oscar. He used to be my best friend. MaryAnne changed all that.

When the new kid opened the schoolroom door smack in the middle of winter, I didn't see how she would last at Stoney Creek. Boy, was I wrong. There was so much I had to learn that year—way more than Mrs. LeMarche could help me with. I know, I was still just a kid, but I grew up a lot—it was a turning point for me, and it was a turning point for MaryAnne. We had shared so much that the new kid had become my best friend—even if she was a little churchy.

We talked about that summer as The Year of the Mystery. We didn't realize that it was the beginning of many adventures together. And I had no idea that I had only begun to discover the mystery of MaryAnne.

–Shoe

P.S. Oscar seems to be doing fine.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed _Mystery at the Hot Pond_. I have to tell you, I became enamored with the characters of Shoe and MaryAnne as their story came to life. You may be asking, "What's next for the two of them?" Well, you can find out in Book II— **The Suitor's Treasure**.

Check out all the books in the _Greatest Treasure_ series at **ShoeMakinen.com**

As I wrote _Mystery at the Hot Pond_ , I expected there would be feedback. Some will have an opinion about Shoe, others will understand the world from his eyes. I love to hear your feedback. Quite frankly, you are the reason that I will explore Shoe's future. So, tell me what you liked, what you loved, even what you hated. I want to hear from you. You can write me at **DavidDeVowe@gmail.com.**

Finally, I would like to ask you a favor. If you're so inclined, I'd really appreciate an honest review of this book. You, the reader, have the power to make or break a book. If you have the time, please go to my website, **DavidDeVowe.com** and click on "Give a Book Review." It will take you to my author page where you can select this book for your review.

Thank you so much for reading and for spending time with Shoe and his friends. He will be back—and so will MaryAnne—to take you along on more of their adventures.

N ow is a great time to read For the Love of Ricky—a free prequel with exclusive content for Shoe's Reader Group. Get this free e-book at ShoeMakinen.com.

"...then came the night that Ricky tangled Mama's nerves up so tight, I was afraid she might never get them undone."

If you liked this book, be sure to read the others in the Greatest Treasure series:

The Suitor's Treasure

Mystery of MaryAnne

Suitor's Prize

In His Visible Hand,

David DeVowe

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