Wonderland Creek Part 30

"Forget it." He sighed. "We'll just do the best we can."

I knelt on the floor and did what he said, squinting at the file tabs, my nose an inch away from the pages. Mack was doing the same. "Most of these are dated," he said a minute later. "Look for any files from 1934, the year that Hank died. It's a place to start."

I found receipts. Pay records. Invoices. The work was tiring and eye-straining. After a while I grew sleepy. Mack seemed discouraged.

Hours later, we had sifted through the first two drawers and were examining the third when Mack suddenly said, "Hey! This might be something. These are records of where they were digging right before Hank died. This one tells how many tons they mined . . . who was working. I think I found the year I'm looking for." He laid the file aside and pulled out the next one, leaning against the drawer to read through it. I was getting nervous. Was Belle still waiting out there? Mack hadn't tied her up.

"I think I'm getting close," Mack said, "but I'll need to read through all these files. Can you keep watch for me?"

"You never told me what will happen if the sheriff catches you here."

"He'll kill me."

"Don't be absurd. He might be crooked, but I don't think he would murder you in cold blood."

Mack looked up at me. "Alice, I'm already supposed to be dead, remember? If he kills me, who would ever know except you?"

"But . . . but what if I'm with you?"

"Look. If I tell you to run, just do it. Don't stop and ask me a million questions like you're doing right now."

I suddenly had a new incentive to stay awake and keep watch for him. Why hadn't he told me this before? Why hadn't I thought of it myself? I had read plenty of mystery stories. I should have figured out that they would kill Mack. Of course they would. He was already dead.

I wished I had waited for him back at the cabin.

My need for a bathroom was urgent now. Embarra.s.sed or not, I couldn't wait. "Mack? Is it okay if I use the outhouse out back?"

"I guess so, if you have to. Just be careful. Stay low."

The outhouse wasn't far from the back door. I looked around carefully for any danger before dashing toward it and shutting the door. When I was done, I stood in the outhouse doorway for a moment, my senses alert, before dashing back to the office. I happened to gaze down through the trees toward the mine entrance when I saw car headlights approaching in the distance, traveling down the highway. Mack had been right: light really did travel a long way on a dark night, especially when there were no other lights for miles around. I wondered what business would take a traveler out on this lonely road in the middle of the night.

I waited in the doorway, expecting to see red taillights after the car pa.s.sed the entrance to the mine and continued down the highway. Instead, the car seemed to vanish into thin air. I dashed back to the office as fast as I could.

"Mack! I think a car just pulled off the highway. I saw headlights on the road, but they disappeared when they reached the entrance."

"Is the car coming this way?"

"It's too dark to see." That darkness had been the reason for coming on a moonless night, and now it was working against us.

Mack stood and we went to the front window to peer out. "You're right! There it is!" he said, pointing. I saw it, too. The black hulk of a car, barely visible in the surrounding gloom, was moving slowly up the entrance road.

"We have to get out of here!" Mack turned back to the drawer and pulled out several more files, quickly checking their contents.

"Who's in the car, Mack? Is it the sheriff? H-how did he know we were here?"

"It's one of his deputies, more likely. He probably sends a man up here at least once a night to check for vandalism. People started stripping all the houses after the mine closed, taking anything they could find." Mack continued to sort through the files as he talked.

"And you just conveniently forgot to mention this nightly inspection to me?"

"They don't keep to a schedule, Alice. There was no way to know when or if they would come around, so why worry about it?" He stuffed a pile of files inside his jacket, tucking them into the waistband of his pants.

"Well, schedule or not, you should have told me!"

"I don't have time to argue with you. Let's go."

I followed Mack as we crawled toward the back door to the mine office. Sleepiness and fright made my legs heavy and clumsy. I wasn't sure if I could run as fast or as far as I had earlier. "How are we going to get across the railroad tracks and make it through all of that open s.p.a.ce without being seen?"

"Let's worry about one thing at a time," Mack said. He clutched the stolen files to his chest, trying to protect them. He handed the rifle to me when we reached the door. "Here. Carry this."

"Why me?"

"I don't want to lose these papers. The gun isn't loaded, remember?" When I still didn't reach to take it, he asked, "Would you rather be caught with an empty rifle or a pile of stolen doc.u.ments?"

I took the gun from him. We crept through the door, then Mack reached through the broken windowpane to lock it again. I wouldn't have remembered. "Wait here," he whispered. I watched him go around to the front of the building. I held my breath, expecting to hear gunfire. A moment later he was back.

"We're in luck. The car went down to check on the houses and the store first. But we won't have much time to make a run for the woods. Are you ready?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if my legs would cooperate. My heart was about to burst from fright. We had all of that open s.p.a.ce to cross: over the railroad tracks, up to the coal tipple, all in plain sight if the guard happened to look our way. I drew a deep breath, and we retraced our steps, dashing across the tracks to the safety of the ditch, sprinting to the shelter of the coal tipple. I had to pause each time to catch my breath. Any minute now I might hear bullets whizzing past my head if we were spotted.

We made one more mad dash to the safety of the woods. Mack plunged into the bushes and hit the dirt, pulling me down to the ground beside him. I gasped for air. I didn't care about snakes or anything else except escaping without being seen. We lay still and watched for a moment as we caught our breath.

The dark shape of a car without its headlights on rolled up the road toward the office. The car stopped in front of the office. Someone got out and walked around the building, shining a flashlight. The night was so still that I heard his footsteps crunching through the weeds. No wonder Mack had decided to stay here instead of running deeper into the woods with branches snapping and leaves rustling beneath our feet. If one of us so much as sneezed, the man would hear that, too. I thought about Belle and the snorting and stomping she did when irritated.

The guard walked to the front of the building again and shone his flashlight into the window. Had we remembered to close all three drawers of the file cabinet? Had we put everything back the way it was?

Too late to worry about it now.

These were the longest minutes of the entire night, waiting, worrying, holding my breath as I watched the guard. I didn't exhale until he climbed back into his car. I started to tell Mack that I was ready to run again, but he put his fingers over my mouth and shook his head. We waited some more.

The car drove past the office and crossed the railroad tracks, heading in our direction. It continued up to the mine entrance and the man got out again, leaving the engine running. He walked up the narrow coal car tracks, shining his light in all directions, then stopped near the entrance to the shaft. It was boarded up, but he seemed to be inspecting it carefully. I prayed he would return to his car soon and drive away, but suddenly Mack gripped the back of my head and shoved my face down into the leaves. He pressed his own face against the ground, too. I soon understood why when the beam of the flashlight probed the edge of the woods. We remained flat as the light swung slowly past us. I could hear Mack breathing, my own heart hammering.

We waited. The light swept past us again from the other direction. We didn't dare move or look up. Would he spot Belle in the woods somewhere behind us? Time stood still. Finally, we heard the car door close and the sound of the vehicle moving away.

Mack lifted his head. "He's leaving," he whispered.

"Can we get out of here now?"

"Let's wait five more minutes." It felt like five hours. The ground was cold and hard beneath me.

At last, Mack rose to his feet. I stood, brushing dirt and leaves from my clothes, and followed him back into the woods. It was pitch-dark. Not even a pinp.r.i.c.k of light was visible. If one of us stepped into a hole, we would break a leg. We reached the spot where I thought we had left Belle, but she wasn't there. Mack made a clicking sound to call her. We waited, listening.

"Belle wouldn't wander home, would she?" I asked.

"No, I told her to stay here and wait for us."

"Right. Like a horse can understand orders. Belle hates the dark, not to mention wildcats. She probably ran back to the safety of her shed and is sound asleep by now." I thought of the long, hard walk ahead of us through the dark forest and I wanted to cry. Mack clicked his tongue again, and a moment later I heard rustling in the bushes. Then Belle's familiar snort. I sagged with relief.

"There you are," Mack said. "Good girl. Good Belle." He patted her neck and rubbed her ears, then gripped her halter and led her deeper into the woods. My next worry was how I would climb onto her back.

We seemed to wander for a long time. I had no idea where we were. "Here's the trail," Mack said suddenly. "Want me to boost you up?"

"The trail? Where? I don't see a trail."

"You're the most argumentative, suspicious person I have ever met. Trust me, there's a trail here. Climb on . . ." He linked his fingers together to make a stirrup and motioned for me to put my foot into it. I did what he asked. Once again, I didn't make it all the way up, and Mack had to give my rear end a final boost. I would have complained, but he was grimacing and ma.s.saging his wounded shoulder so I knew the maneuver had hurt him more than me. He secured the files beneath his jacket, handed me the worthless rifle, then climbed onto a fallen tree trunk to boost himself up. He barely had enough strength to crawl on. Belle probably would have knelt down to help him if he had asked her to.

We rode in silence for a while before stopping at the edge of a narrow clearing. Mack waited, looking all around before venturing out of the woods. "What's wrong?" I whispered.

"Nothing. This is where we cross the road."

We continued on through the woods. I no longer cared about the wildcat. I just wanted to get home so my insides would stop wringing like a load of laundry. I knew we were close when I heard rushing water and the wonderful, familiar sound of Wonderland Creek. We followed it downstream until Belle carried us up the steep rise to Mack's cabin. I was almost home.

We both climbed off, and I helped Mack put Belle's saddle and bridle on her. I performed my balancing act on the porch railing to climb on while Mack stroked Belle's shoulder, telling her what a good horse she was. Then he looked up at me.

"Thanks, Alice. I really appreciate your help."

His jacket hung open, and when he reached up to rub Belle's muzzle, I noticed a dark stain on the inside of his shirt, above his heart.

"Mack, your bullet wound is bleeding again."

He touched the spot and winced. "Maybe a little. It'll be fine. Let's hope this was our last trip to the mine."

The path seemed a little brighter as Belle and I followed the creek into town. Was I getting used to the dark or was dawn about to break?

At last I was home. Belle trotted into her shed like a thoroughbred racing to the finish line. I ducked just in time. I removed her saddle and gave her a little extra grain for her hard night's work. As I crossed the backyard to the house, I happened to look up. The clouds had disappeared, and I glimpsed the Milky Way like a river of sparkling lights shimmering across the sky. I couldn't recall ever seeing it so clearly, so magnificently before. The world looked glorious and beautiful to me as every cell in my body hummed with life.

"Wow!" I breathed. I was glad to be alive, to be safe.

To be home.

I walked in through the back door, relieved my ordeal was finally over, and saw a dark figure huddled at the kitchen table. I let out a cry and retreated backward toward the door.

Lillie lifted her head. "You okay, honey?"

"You scared me half to death! What are you doing in the kitchen? It's nearly dawn!"

"I been sitting here praying for you and Mack and Belle. What'd you think I'd be doing all this time?"

"Sleeping."

"Well, someone's got to keep those angels watching over you. Did everything go all right?"

"Yes. Mack thinks he found what he was looking for."

"Good. Let's go to bed, honey." She started to pull herself to her feet.

"Wait. Before you do. You never told me why those men killed Sam and your daughter."

She stared at me as if she didn't understand my question. "You want to hear that story now? Can't it wait until morning?"

"No. I don't want to wait. You never finish any of your stories, Lillie. You'll forget by morning, and I'm wide awake now. I've been pondering death all day and worrying about it all night, so I want to hear the story right now." Lillie sighed and settled back into her chair. I was too wound up to sit. I understood how Belle must feel when she starts stomping and snorting.

Lillie took a moment to think, as if paging through a book to find the place where she had left off. Her voice sounded frail and sad as she told her story.

"Sam was trying to help the colored folk in our town," she began, "just like Mack was trying to help the miners. Them plantation owners didn't pay their sharecroppers a fair wage, and they charged too much for rent and all them other things folks need from the store. Sam stood up to them and asked them to be fair to us. The men in the white hoods didn't like that, so they come after Sam, hoping to scare him out of town."

I looked at her for a long moment. Fighting injustice seemed to carry a very high price tag. "Weren't you worried about Mack's safety when he came back to Acorn to do the same thing and fight for people's rights?"

"Sure I was. And even more worried after Hank died and someone stole that book Mack was working on. Mack had been to college, and he could have escaped from this place. I told him, 'Honey, you need to stay up there in Ohio with your good job. Stay where it's safe.' "

"Why didn't he listen to you?"

"I guess it was on account of the way he was raised." Lillie smiled slightly. "I taught him to care about other people, like the Good Book says. I taught him to always do what G.o.d asks you to do. The Lord made Mack real good at writing, and so he decided to write things to help other people, not to make a pile of money for himself. He don't run around saying Bible verses all day or toting the Good Book under his arm, but he's a good man, honey. Just like my Sam was. And G.o.d wants us to do good in this terrible bad world."

"But if Sam and Mack were doing what G.o.d asked them to do, why didn't He protect them?"

"Didn't we talk about this once before? We live in a fallen world. And we're the ones who made it that way, not G.o.d."

"I never understood why G.o.d doesn't get rid of all the evil people-like He did during Noah's flood."

"Because the Lord is merciful. He wants to give every last person a chance to hear about Jesus. He doesn't want anybody to die without knowing Him, whether they're wearing white hoods or cheating miners. That makes it harder for His children to live in this world, but Jesus said we're supposed to love our enemies and do good to the people who persecute you."

"This is more than persecution, Lillie. They killed your Sam, and they probably killed Hank and shot Mack, too."

"Yes, they might kill us. They killed Jesus, didn't they? But when He comes back someday, all of the evil in this world will be gone for good. Everything will be made new, and I'll see Sam and our baby girl again." Lillie struggled to stand and this time I helped her. We walked through the darkened library, then Lillie paused at the bottom of the stairs.

"Now, if only I didn't have to worry about my Buster," she said with a sigh. "It's been so long since I seen him, and I just wish I knew if he remembers what I taught him about Jesus, after all this time."

"But, Lillie, didn't you tell me that n.o.body can s.n.a.t.c.h G.o.d's children out of His hand?"

Even in the dark I saw her eyes glisten with tears. "That's true, honey. I did say that." She climbed up two steps, then stopped to look at me. "See? You learned something while you was here."

We climbed the rest of the way to the top and I helped her into bed. She was already wearing her white nightgown. "You still think about Buster a lot, don't you?"

"I do, honey. Especially now that I'm getting ready to cross over to the other side. That boy was so young when they took him from me . . . and I just wish I knew for sure if I'll see him again up in heaven."

"I'm sure you will." I bent to kiss her wrinkled forehead. "Good night, Lillie. And thank you for praying for us tonight."

I fell into bed. I was exhausted, but it took me a long time to fall asleep as my mind replayed everything I had experienced. I had never been through such a nerve-wracking ordeal in my life, and I hoped I never would again. And yet a tiny, stubborn part of me whispered that it had been an exciting night-now that it was over and I was safe, of course. I had lived through a real-life adventure instead of reading about one in a book. My life would seem boring when I got home. What in the world would I do with the rest of my life? I lay awake for a long time, but just before I fell asleep, I whispered a prayer-a real prayer-that G.o.d would help Lillie find her son.

I longed to sleep late the next day, still worn-out after only a few hours' sleep. But the packhorse ladies would arrive at the front door soon, and they would wonder why I wasn't up. I got dressed, let Belle out of her stall, and freed the chickens from their coop. Lillie remained in bed all day, so I spent the morning upstairs, working on her folk medicine book. She must be exhausted, too, and I wanted to be near her in case she needed me because I knew that in some strange, inexplicable way, I needed her. I couldn't bear it if she "crossed over to the other side" just yet.

Halfway through the morning I turned a page in Lillie's notebook and found a folded piece of paper stuffed between the pages. I unfolded it carefully and saw that the elegant handwriting, penned in ink, was not Lillie's: May 2, 1855 Charley Hammond sold to Edgewater Plantation, Midlothian, Virginia.

August 5, 1860 Buster Hammond sold to Alfred Drucker, Thornburg, Virginia.

I stared at it in amazement. I thought I knew what this piece of paper was, but I was afraid to believe it. I carried it into Lillie's bedroom as if carrying a living thing, afraid the seventy-year-old note might disintegrate in my hand. She slept half-sitting up, propped by pillows and swaddled in the quilt to keep warm. She opened her eyes as I approached.

"Lillie, what is this? I found it in one of your notebooks."