The Old House

  And Grandpa had said, “Sister cried when EllaBelle ran off and married Dan Adams.” Which sister had cried, Addie or Cassie? And why?

  Hesitating, Buddy looked around Addie’s room. It was large and sunny and full of shelves of books and pictures and objects Addie had collected over the years. A beautiful pale pink shell. A devotional book, lying flat with a purple ribbon marking a place. Photos, including one of her mother in a graduation cap and gown.

  Why was she keeping that, in plain sight, if she felt EllaBelle had done something wrong? Something to hurt her? Was Addie the sister who had cried when EllaBelle had eloped?

  There was nothing in the room to suggest that Addie had lived here with a husband, nor that she had retained things from her own girlhood. This was a woman’s room, where Addie lived alone.

  What had she said about Uncle Ed? “At least Ed had the decency to die on me.” Did that mean it was a relief that he was gone?

  Buddy thought about Gus, and wondered if Cassie would find it a relief if he were to die. Even his own son had expressed the hope that he’d fall and break his neck. Buddy couldn’t imagine thinking anything like that about her father.

  And when they had mentioned the fact that Grandpa had sold the store that had supported his family for so many years, they’d said something about cash. A whole bagful of cash, hadn’t Grandpa said that?

  If he had a lot of money, why did they have to depend on Uncle Gordon to buy tires for the car, and why weren’t they able to replace the microwave and the remote control? Was it Grandpa’s money Addie had referred to as being gone? If so, what had happened to it?

  There was a miniature cedar chest on the far end of the dresser. Buddy reached over and lifted the lid, expecting to see the same kind of odds and ends her mother had kept in one just like it. But there were no souvenirs of high school proms, no pressed flowers, no sentimental notes, no jewelry.

  There were folded handkerchiefs, smelling faintly of cedar, and a small blue bank book.

  Buddy flipped open the cover and saw that it was an account that had been started many years ago. Addie had put small amounts into it, and taken small amounts out from time to time, and the balance right now was less than one hundred dollars.

  Feeling guilty, Buddy closed the lid.

  The return envelope from the publishing company lay where she had last seen it. It was still sealed, as if Addie had not been able to bring herself to open it and read the rejection letter it contained.

  Of course the photographs and snapshots were what she’d come to look at. She picked up the album, listening to the silence of the house. There was no reason to think she had to hurry. Neither of her aunts would be coming home to surprise her in this room where she had no right to be.

  She carried the big book over to sit in the rocking chair at the foot of the bed, and opened it on her lap.

  The picture of her father and Addie, taken so long ago, was just as she’d left it earlier. This time she studied it more closely, then turned it over to see what was written on the back. Dan and me, was all it said, Fourth of July.

  No date.

  Slowly Buddy leafed through the album, as she had done with the one belonging to her mother. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Snapshots of a family, three sisters and a brother, with parents and grandparents and an occasional pet mixed in.

  It told her nothing except that her father and Addie had been friends. They had had their pictures taken together at least half a dozen times. There was no snapshot of Dan and EllaBelle together.

  Somewhere in the house was a sound that brought her upright, heart pounding. She had learned nothing, and now she would feel guilty forever, snooping this way. But how else did a kid find out anything important, without snooping?

  She replaced the album where it belonged and went back downstairs, trying to think of an excuse for having gone up there if she got caught. She had no legitimate excuse for being upstairs.

  It must have been just the creaking of the old house, she decided. There was no one around. Not even Grandpa’s talking clock marred the silence.

  In the kitchen the aroma of corned beef and cabbage drifted from the Crock-Pot. She wondered if they’d keep Gus at the hospital if he did have a more serious injury than Addie had thought, or if she’d have to sit through another of those uncomfortable meals with Max’s father present tonight.

  Max came through the back door as she was trying to decide what to do next. She wished Bart would call with an update—had he talked to anyone yet who had seen Dad or his truck? But of course not. He’d let her know when there was any news. He knew how worried she was.

  Max was wearing a blue jacket and a baseball cap, and he pulled the kitten out of the jacket front as he entered the house.

  “Who mowed the lawn?” he demanded, putting the animal down near his bowl and getting out what was left of the tuna for him. Apparently Scamp didn’t object to pickles and mayonnaise, because he ate greedily.

  “I did. The mower is almost like ours at home,” Buddy said, before she remembered that she no longer had a home.

  “You tie up the newspapers, too?” He’d noticed the wagon load near the back steps.

  “I didn’t know where to take them,” Buddy said.

  “Come on, I’ll show you where the recycling place is. It’s just a big bin, behind the grocery store.”

  “I’m supposed to be watching over Grandpa,” Buddy said. “He’s taking a nap.”

  “He usually sleeps for a couple of hours in the afternoon. Just like a baby,” Max said. “We can be back before he wakes up.”

  She wasn’t sure that was the proper way to watch over the old man, but she did want to get back out in the sunshine. “Okay,” she agreed, and was glad Max pulled the wagon and didn’t expect her to do it.

  They were on the way back when she finally asked the question that had been on her tongue for some time. Her mouth felt dry, and she didn’t know if he’d answer or not. “They said Grandpa sold his store for a lot of money. Cash, he said. A whole bagful of cash.”

  “Yeah, I guess it was thousands of dollars. They were all mad at him for demanding it in cash instead of a check to put in the bank. That way, it probably wouldn’t have disappeared.”

  Buddy paused on the sidewalk to take that in. “It disappeared? Don’t they know what happened to it?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “Yeah. Didn’t you know? Your mother stole it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Buddy staggered as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “That’s a lie!” she exclaimed when she could speak. “My mom never stole anything in her life!”

  Max shrugged. “I wasn’t here when it happened. I just heard about it. They talk about it when they don’t know I’m listening. For once, I don’t think the whole town knows, but I’ve heard it plenty of times.”

  “Then you must have heard wrong!”

  Max started walking again, pulling the empty wagon. Buddy wasn’t sure she had the strength to walk with him. She felt outraged, sick, disbelieving at his accusation.

  “All I know is that as long as Grandpa had money, they seemed to be able to do the things they wanted. While he ran the store I don’t think they bought a lot of stuff, but they could fix anything that broke, at least. Then, after the money disappeared, they couldn’t afford it. Cassie doesn’t have any income of her own, except for what their father left her and Addie. It pays the taxes and basic expenses, but there isn’t much left over. At least it makes it possible for her to stay here and look after Grandpa. He has Social Security, but that’s not very much, either. And Addie has a small salary from the job at the library, and once in a while a small check for an article she sells to a magazine. And Pa—”

  A bitter spasm twisted Max’s face. “He’s got a pension because he hurt his back and can’t work. But he spends a lot of time over at the Hayloft. He even buys drinks for other guys sometimes. We would just barely survive if we didn’t live here, in Grandpa’s house, wh
ich will belong to Cassie and Addie when he dies. It’s been paid for for years, so that part doesn’t cost anything. Once in a while my mom sends a check to use for me. School clothes, things like that. But I don’t always get it the way I’m supposed to, unless Cassie insists. I always make sure she knows when it comes.”

  He didn’t state where the money from his mother went, but when Buddy’s mind began to work again, she made a good guess. Gus treated more friends at the tavern.

  “You’re sure they said my mom took the money? You mean Addie and Cassie said so?”

  It would explain why Addie felt resentment against her younger sister, if it were true. But how could it be true? “Mama was the most honest person alive,” she said stubbornly.

  Max kicked a small rock off the sidewalk as they reached the house and took the wagon back to the garage. “All I know is what I hear,” he said.

  “And this is what Addie holds against Mama? That she thinks Mama stole money from Grandpa? Money that would have helped support them all, and keep the house up?”

  She sounded angry, and Max dropped the handle of the wagon and held up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, okay? You asked me, and I told you what I know. I didn’t make up the news. I just know what I hear them all saying, you know?”

  “I’d never have come here if I’d known this,” Buddy said.

  “I wouldn’t have come here, either, if I could have helped it,” Max said as they walked from the garage to the house. “Though living with Pa in two rooms over Mallory’s garage wasn’t great. This is better, in many ways. Cassie means well. So does Addie, I guess. And I don’t mind Grandpa. When his mind isn’t wandering, he’s kind of a neat old guy. Get him talking about the old days that he still remembers and he can tell some terrific stories.”

  As they went up the back steps together, Max shot her a look. “Did your dad leave you a note when he went away?”

  “A note?” She was momentarily distracted from the accusation against her mother. “No, why would he leave a note? We were all together at home, and he told us what to do, and Rich picked him up right in front. He told me to mind Bart and said he’d be back in week or so and we’d all go out for steaks or pizza, whichever we wanted. He hugged us and got in Rich’s car and waved good-bye, and that was all.”

  Max held open the screen door for her. “My mom left a note. We didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. She was sorry she couldn’t take me with her, because she didn’t have any money and didn’t know how she was going to manage, but she said she’d write later.”

  “And did she?”

  “Yeah, about once a month. Says she misses me.” Max wiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “I know she feels bad that I have to live with Pa, when she couldn’t. She explained it to me. Said he was an alcoholic and would never change, and she couldn’t stand it any longer. But I’m still stuck with him. Whew! Grandpa’s been at the thermostat again!”

  The house was very hot. They heard the talking clock, and found Grandpa standing before the thermostat in the dining room. He heard them coming and gave them a triumphant grin.

  “Somebody stuck this junk all over it so I couldn’t turn it up any higher, but I got it all off,” he told them, holding the wads of duct tape and the little wedge of wood that had limited the settings.

  Max held out his hand for the stuff. “Sorry, Grandpa, but I’m going to have to put them back on. If it gets too hot, nobody else can breathe in here, and they’re afraid you’ll burn the house down. Come on, let’s go get your sweater, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t burn anything down,” the old man protested, though he allowed himself to be steered out of the dining room. “I used to put out fires, you know. I was on the volunteer fire department for years. If there wasn’t anybody to look after the store, I’d lock it up and jump in my pickup and off I’d go, whenever the whistle blew. We had signals in those days, you know. No CBs in people’s trucks. One blast was for the north side of town. Two meant south. Three was east, and four toots meant we headed west. We always found the fire, following the pumper truck and the siren, and most of the time we put it out.”

  He obediently held out an arm for his sweater when Max fetched it for him. “I always made a donation for the fire department when they asked. Did I make my donation yet this year?”

  “I don’t think so,” Max told him. “Man, it’s broiling in here. You want a cold drink?” He peered into the refrigerator. “Which do you want?”

  “Orange,” Grandpa decided. Buddy and Max settled for grape, and Max handed out the cans.

  “How come I didn’t make a donation yet? The fire department’s a worthy cause,” Grandpa said as they took chairs around the table.

  “I don’t think you’ve got any money, Grandpa,” Max told him, sliding a glance toward Buddy to see if she was going to erupt again.

  The old man frowned. “I used to have money. A lot of money. Filled up a whole bag with cash.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s gone now,” Max informed him. “You should have put it in the bank instead of keeping it at home.”

  Grandpa was still scowling. “Don’t trust banks. They all failed.”

  “That was many years ago, Grandpa,” Max assured him. “The banks are all right now. You should have just let old Peterson write you a check, and put it in the bank.”

  “Alf Peterson. Never trusted him. He wrote bad checks. I remember. I didn’t trust him to pay for the store with a check, so I insisted on cash. There was a whole lot of it. The banker didn’t want him to have that much in cash, but I insisted. It was my money. Alf bought a car from me once and the check bounced and I had a terrible time getting my money out of him. Couldn’t trust him as far as I could have thrown him.”

  Buddy’s mouth had gotten drier and drier in spite of the grape soda. “Why did you think Mama took your cash money?”

  Shock flashed across Max’s face, but Grandpa’s look turned puzzled. “Your mama? Did I say your mama took my money?”

  “EllaBelle was my mother.” Buddy pushed forward, determined to know more than Max had told her. “Max says Aunt Addie and Aunt Cassie both think she stole your money.”

  “I never said that, did I?” He scratched his head thoughtfully. “I don’t remember saying that. I just put it somewhere safe, didn’t I?”

  Buddy leaned forward on her elbows. “Where? Where was it safe?”

  “I don’t know,” the old man said after a moment during which he thought hard. “I have a little trouble with my memory these days, you know. Can’t always remember everything, the way I used to. Don’t worry. It’ll turn up one of these days.”

  “After two and a half years?” Max muttered under his breath.

  “But you don’t think EllaBelle stole it?” Buddy asked hopefully.

  “EllaBelle was a nice little girl. Prettiest one of the bunch, wasn’t she? All those curls.” He squinted at Buddy. “You don’t have curls, do you?”

  “No. I can’t believe she stole your money, Grandpa.”

  “No. I can’t, either. I used to feed her butterscotch drops. Grandma scolded me for giving all the youngsters candy, but I can’t see that it hurt them any. Didn’t spoil their appetites much, and I always told them to brush their teeth afterward. Do you brush regularly?”

  Buddy was getting that down-the-rabbit-hole feeling again.

  What had she learned today? Several things, none of them trustworthy. There was no way she’d ever be convinced that her mother had been a thief. She looked at Max. Surely he, too, could see that not everything he’d heard was necessarily true.

  Max wiggled his eyebrows, signaling his own bafflement.

  “Why do grown-ups talk in riddles instead of saying the truth straight out?” Buddy asked in frustration.

  “I try to say the truth straight out,” Grandpa asserted. “Always have. Good business. People trust you.”

  Max laughed. “You’re one of us kids, Grandpa,” he said, and drained his can of pop as he stood up. “I
better go find another stick of wood and fix that thermostat before anybody else gets home. They get upset when he undoes their traps or their tricks.”

  Grandpa turned to follow his movements. “What’s he going to do?”

  “Fix the thermostat,” Buddy told him, flinching at her own evasive response after she’d just wished that people would speak more plainly.

  “Good. Good. It needs fixing. It was broken, so I couldn’t turn it up,” Grandpa said. “Is it suppertime yet?” He punched the button on his clock and got the time. “Have we had supper yet?”

  “No, Grandpa. But it’s cooking. We’ll eat when Aunt Cassie and Aunt Addie come home.”

  “Good girls,” Grandpa approved. “Always been really good to me. Take care of me. Kind of bossy, though, sometimes.”

  Max was right, Buddy thought. Addie and Cassie were the grown-ups, and she and Max and Grandpa were the kids. They were the ones who didn’t have anything to say about what they had to do.

  And what would happen if Bart didn’t find Dad? Sorrow rushed through her, making her ache with an almost physical pain. Bart had to find him, she thought, determined not to give in to despair. But it was getting harder all the time.

  • • •

  Gus had a concussion, but he didn’t have to stay in the hospital in Kalispell. The doctor said he could recuperate just as well at home. Buddy got the impression that the trip had not been a particularly pleasant one. Gus was grumpy and said he was going to lie down again, and Cassie was clearly worn out.

  She checked on the Crock-Pot, and thanked Buddy for keeping an eye on Grandpa. “I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”