Wonderland Creek Part 24

My last stop was Mack's cabin, where I dropped off more food. I also brought him a letter that had arrived at the library addressed to Mr. Leslie MacDougal. It had a Washington, D.C., return address. I was curious about its contents, of course, but Mack tucked it into his pocket without commenting on it.

"You have time to stay and talk a bit?" he asked. "I'm cooking some stew on the campfire, and I need to keep an eye on it."

I dismounted and followed him back to the fire pit in the little glade. Belle followed us, too, sticking as close to Mack's side as a lover. A small black pot sat bubbling on the coals, and whatever was cooking in it smelled delicious. Mack poked the fire and expertly added another piece of wood. "Have a seat," he said, gesturing to the ring of rocks. "No, sit on this side, Alice, or the wind will blow smoke in your face."

I sat down and held my fingers out to the fire to warm them. Once the sun dipped behind the hills every afternoon, the woods grew chilly. Mack remained standing, giving Belle an enthusiastic brushing. I also relied on him to clean her hooves, like Cora had said to do.

"How was your date with Ike Arnett?" he asked without meeting my gaze.

"Fine . . . I'm surprised you remembered."

"You asked me for a character reference, so I wanted to make sure Ike hadn't done anything to make me regret granting my approval." He sounded as stuffy as my father did when he questioned me about boys.

"Ike was a gentleman. He played his fiddle with the band, and I listened to him. I enjoyed myself." I needed to change the subject before Mack caught me grinning or blushing the way Maggie had. "By the way, Ike told me that the reason he turned down your offer to go to Nashville was because your mother was a Larkin. Did you know that?"

"He never mentioned it." I watched Belle's antics in amus.e.m.e.nt while we talked. Every time Mack stopped brushing her, Belle nudged him with her muzzle as if coaxing him to continue. My grandmother's cat used to do the same thing when she wanted to be petted.

"Ike also told me that you were trying to find this mysterious treasure map everyone is looking for. Is that true? Do you really think one exists?"

"I don't know. All this talk about buried treasure could be just a legend. I tried searching for a while, hoping I could make peace and end the fighting. But I didn't have any luck."

"I don't understand this feud. I don't see how shunning June Ann and Wayne could possibly serve any purpose. It won't change the fact that they're married."

"The families think it will discourage other young people from crossing feud lines when they see what happened to them."

"That's ridiculous. The only person who's discouraged is poor June Ann. Why can't people get along and help each other? When Ike and I started putting in a garden for Miss Lillie, a handful of folks from town all joined in-from both clans. Meanwhile, June Ann is all alone up there, hoeing corn with her baby tied to her chest."

"That's because you and Miss Lillie aren't Larkins or Arnetts. Besides, the families will try to outdo each other to show which one of them is more caring and generous toward people outside the clan."

"They all came to your funeral, too, even though you're a Larkin."

"That's different. I was dead. The only good Larkin is a dead one-and the same goes for the Arnetts." Mack gave the horse a gentle shove, pushing her away. "Go on, Belle. That's enough. Go eat some gra.s.s or something." He crouched to stir his stew, then sat down beside me. "Those clans have been fighting for sixty years. They're not likely to make up anytime soon."

"Meanwhile, June Ann suffers from loneliness."

"Right. And the more people you tell about her, the more afraid the younger generation will be to cross family lines."

"So I'm making it worse?"

Mack shrugged. "I doubt it could get any worse." Belle sidled up behind him and nibbled his neck. He pushed her aside. "What's gotten into you? Go away or I'll tie you up!" I couldn't help laughing.

"When I was helping Lillie make a tonic for June Ann and her baby, I found the notes you typed for Lillie-her remedies and folk cures. I offered to help her type up the rest of them."

"You would really do that?"

"Sure. I'm a very good typist. Fast, too."

"That would be a huge weight off my mind, Alice. They say that when an old person dies, it's as though a library burns. I know someone at the state university who's interested in publishing her compilation. It would be an important contribution to Kentucky's history and folklore."

"I'm happy to help. But do you know where Lillie's family is? I'm worried about who will take care of her after I go home. I would like to help her contact someone."

"I was looking into that before I got shot. It's hard to get any personal information out of Lillie."

"She has told me a few stories from her past."

"Good. Maybe you can get her to tell you some more while you're working on the book. I'd like to contact her family, too, but I hardly know where to begin."

"Do you know someone in Washington?" I asked, remembering the letter he had received. He frowned at me as if I was being nosy, so I quickly added, "If so, we could ask them to check the U.S. Census records for information. We'd have to know which state and county her son lived in, but the census might lead us to an address."

"As a matter of fact, I do have a friend who lives in that area. See if you can get Lillie to tell you more about her son, Buster. Maybe my friend can help us find him."

"Do you know if Lillie ever had other children?"

"She never talks much about herself. And the only child I've ever heard her mention is Buster. He must be in his seventies or eighties by now, if he's even alive."

"Goodness. We'd better hurry, then."

He poked the fire again and I caught a whiff of the stew.

"Mm. That smells good. What is it?"

"You want some? I think it's nearly done. As soon as the potatoes get soft, we can eat it."

I looked at him warily. "You didn't answer my question. What's in it?"

He picked up the spoon and stirred it, showing me the contents. "Potatoes and carrots . . . onions, some home-canned tomatoes . . ."

"And meat. I see chunks of meat in there. What kind is it?"

"You're awfully suspicious!" Mack broke into a wide grin. He looked so different now that his beard was gone and I could see his face. And the dimple in his cheek. The wooly man I'd first met would have looked more at home here in the woods than this nicely groomed version-and this version would look more at home behind the librarian's desk. "Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?" he asked.

"I have. But Lillie fed me squirrel the other night without telling me."

"I'll bet it tasted good. But this isn't squirrel-it's rabbit. I set a few snares." I must have made a face, because he laughed and said, "Don't look at me like that. Do you want me to starve to death up here?"

"Forget it," I said, waving my hand. "I'm not hungry. But thanks just the same . . . So, tell me, how long have you known Lillie?"

"Since the day I was born. My mother died giving birth to me. Lillie was the midwife, so I guess she felt responsible. She said my mother made her swear that she would always take care of me and never let me work a single day in the mines. Lillie kept those promises-which is why I need to finish my work and get back home. I should be taking care of Lillie myself."

"What about your father?"

"He died in a mining accident when I was three."

"And the house where the library is? Was that your parents' house? It's so much nicer than the other houses in Acorn."

"My great-grandfather Larkin built it. His son, my maternal grandfather, was still alive when I was orphaned so he let Lillie and me move in with him. Before that, we lived in the cabin where I'm staying now."

I could tell that this conversation was making Mack uncomfortable. He stood and grabbed a fork from the stone table and used it to poke one of the potatoes. "They're done. You sure you don't want to stay and have some stew?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure. I need to get back to town. Maggie Coots said it wasn't safe to roam around up here after dark because of the wildcat." I looked around for something to stand on that would make me tall enough to reach the stirrup. The stone table looked as though it would work. I grabbed Belle's bridle and led her over to it so I could climb into the saddle without Mack's help. He walked with us as far as the creek.

"See you in a few days?" he asked. Loneliness seemed to drape over him as we prepared to leave, just as it had blanketed June Ann and Maggie.

"Yes, I'll be back. Do you want me to bring you any books to read?"

"No . . . Give Lillie my love."

I didn't have to ride my route the next day so I told Lillie I would work on her book. "Not today, honey," she said from her bed. "I ain't feeling strong enough."

Her bouts of weakness worried me. She seemed to be growing frailer each day. I knew she couldn't live forever, but I didn't want her to pa.s.s away yet. Her crusty personality was growing on me, and I was determined to finish typing her book of folk remedies. I knew how much it meant to her, and I found I wanted to be part of saving something so important.

"You can stay in bed and I'll set up Mack's typewriter in my room. Once I get used to your handwriting, I can type on my own unless I need you to decipher a word."

The work was harder than I'd thought it would be. It turned out that Lillie had several notebooks, not just one, with crumbling ivory pages that were decades old. I had to be extremely careful or the paper would break off and turn to powder like dry leaves. She had written the recipes and instructions in pencil, and many of the words were smudged and faded and blurred. I found the place where Mack had stopped typing and was dismayed to see that he had gotten only as far as the first notebook.

I typed for a few hours, using the same format that Mack had used. Halfway through the morning, I encountered a word that I just couldn't figure. I tiptoed into Lillie's room, not wanting to disturb her, but she opened her eyes and asked, "What is it, honey?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't figure out this word. What does this say?"

She squinted at the page for a moment. "That says, 'Sam's liniment.' This here was his recipe. He was a carriage driver on his ma.s.sa's plantation and he knew all about horses. He used to cook up a batch of this liniment whenever a horse was feeling lame. They get the rheumatism, too, you know. Just like people do."

"Was this your Sam? The man you loved?"

"Mmm hmm."

I sat down on the chair beside her bed, not wanting to miss this opportunity to hear more of her story. "Please tell me about him-and about Charley and Buster. My shoulders are stiff from typing, and I could use a break."

"Where did I leave off?"

"You told me that your former mistress gave you the addresses of where Charley and Buster had been sold."

"That's right. She sure did. So Sam and me saved our money, and when school got out for the summer, we went looking for them."

"How did you travel?"

"We walked most of the way, because a lot of the train tracks was still tore up from the war. I think we might a took a ferry down one of the rivers-I can't remember. But I know we walked a long way. And then we walked some more. We found the plantation where Charley'd been sold, but we knew better than to go there. Them white ma.s.sas don't like to see colored folk walking up to their doorstep, especially Negroes they don't know. So Sam and me went to the colored town nearby. Well, I don't suppose you could call it a town. Just a bunch of shacks. Them was hard, hard times after the war. Everybody was so poor-whites and coloreds alike. At least the white folks had land so they could grow things. We didn't have nothing but the clothes on our backs."

Lillie paused to sit up and take a sip of water from her gla.s.s on the nightstand. The sun had finally climbed over the top of the mountain to the east-a process that took most of the morning-and it was chasing the cold shadows out of the room. Dust motes floated in a sunbeam before settling on Lillie's dresser. I waited, hoping she would continue her story.

"We found Charley without too much trouble. He was sharecropping on his ma.s.sa's old plantation. By now so much time had pa.s.sed since we'd seen each other that he'd gone ahead and married someone else, and his new wife looked like she was fixing to claw my eyes out any minute. Charley says we was already divorced so I should go ahead and marry Sam, because he was happy with his new wife. Even had a couple of kids by her. So that was that."

Lillie looked over at me and nodded, as if she had told me everything I needed to know. "Wait. What about Buster?"

"I told Charley I was looking for Buster and asked if he wanted to help. He says no, he's got four new children now. Says he has to work hard to keep food on his table and can't be running off like that. So Sam and me left and went off to find Buster."

The front door squeaked open downstairs, and I heard Mamaw call, "Anybody here?"

I sighed in frustration. "I'll be right down," I called back. I wanted to hear more of Lillie's story, but the boys wanted to hear their story, too. We had only two chapters left in Treasure Island. "I'll be back in an hour or so with your lunch," I told Lillie.

I went downstairs to the non-fiction section to read, and soon I was as caught up in the end of the tale as the children were. They laughed and tussled with each other after I read, "The end."

"That was real good," Bobby said.

"Can you read us another pirate story?" Clyde asked.

"I'll see what I can find. I enjoyed the book, too."

"There's buried treasure around here, you know," Lloyd said. "If we could find the treasure map, we'd be rich."

"What would you do with the money?" I asked.

They started a shouting match, telling me all the things they'd buy: a shiny new truck for their pa; a radio so Mamaw could listen to music; Clyde wanted a new horse for his ma so she could ride her route faster and get home quicker. I thought of the list I had recited to Ike with a wringer washing machine and a refrigerator and indoor plumbing. I felt very spoiled and selfish.

"They say them Larkins found the treasure and stole it already," Mamaw said.

"I'd like to hear more about this buried treasure," I said. "Will you tell me the story?"

Mamaw leaned close and the boys grew quiet, listening as intently as they had to Treasure Island, even though I was sure they had heard it before. "There was once two friends named Isaac Larkin and Wilbur Arnett," Mamaw began. "They came upon a great treasure when they was out hunting one day, and they buried it in the ground for safekeeping. Then they made a map of where it was buried so their families would know where to dig it up."

"Why didn't they just divide up the treasure and spend it themselves?" I asked.

"No one knows. And n.o.body remembers where the treasure came from, either."

"I'll bet it came from pirates!" Lloyd said.

Bobby elbowed him. "Shh!"

"Isaac and Wilbur both died," Mamaw continued, "without telling anybody where the map or the treasure was. The Arnetts-that's my clan-always figured the Larkins found the map and dug the money up and didn't share it with us. We all wondered about Mack, having money for college and all these books. He was a Larkin, you know. But Miss Lillie said his college was free and that he worked for a newspaper up north for a while and made enough money to buy all the books. And some of them are Lillie's books, I guess."

"I'm surprised that Faye and the others made friends with Mack," I said, "even though he was a Larkin."

"Well, his mama was a Larkin, and she died the day Mack was born. He wasn't raised by Larkins. And Mack himself was more like a flatlander than one of us because he never worked in the mines. You see?"

No. I didn't see. I would never understand the intricacies of this feud.

I went upstairs to check on Lillie after Mamaw and the boys left, but she was sound asleep again. I came back downstairs and had just sat down behind the library desk to catch up on my work when Ike bounded through the front door.

"Hey, Alice. Don't you look pretty today."

"Thank you." He reminded me so much of an overgrown boy that I had to resist the urge to invite him to come and listen to me read stories with Faye's boys. "Are you here to check out another book?" I asked.

"Nope." His neatly combed hair flopped into his eyes as he shook his head. "I came to take you on a lunchtime picnic. What do you say?"

"Right now? I'm supposed to be working in the library. It's supposed to be open."

"Oh, yeah? How many customers are you expecting besides me and them boys?" He smiled, obviously aware that we had no other "customers." When I didn't reply he added, "Does somebody have overdue books they're bringing back this afternoon?"

"No, I'm not expecting any patrons." I couldn't help smiling.