Tracking Daddy Down Read online

  I panicked, trying again to heave my leg over the windowsill.

  Mama’s footsteps creaked up the hallway.

  I pictured Daddy Joe revving up the car, a big grin on his face as he prepared to haul me off to the Indianapolis Girls’ School. Gathering every bit of strength I had, I forced one leg out the window, then the other. I dropped silently into Mama’s azalea bush and took off through the neighbor’s backyard, crossing the street and circling in on Tommy’s trailer from the back.

  I nearly jumped out of my shoes when Carla yelled, “Are you playing hide-and-seek, Billie?” She was hanging upside down from Tommy’s tire swing, holding Tiger.

  “Where’s Tommy?”

  “He’s inside. I’m baby-sitting the kitty for him.” Tiger mewed frantically, trying to claw her way out of Carla’s arms.

  “She wants to swing faster,” Carla said. She spun the tire around again.

  I ran to Tommy’s bedroom window and rapped on the screen. “We’ve got to go. Mama’s on her way over here any minute. We’re in big trouble. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  I could hardly wait another second to get away, but as soon as Tommy came out the back door, Carla jumped off the tire swing. “Bad kitty! Come back here right now. I ain’t done swinging you yet.” She ran after the kitten, following it to the tallest tree in Tommy’s yard. We watched, helplessly, as Tiger scrambled up the trunk. She didn’t stop until she was halfway to the top.

  “Shoot! Why’d you let go of her?” Tommy said. “Now I won’t be able to get her down. She might fall.”

  “I didn’t let go of her. She jumped away. And look here, she scratched my arm, too.” Carla started to bawl. She grabbed her Kimmy doll from the wagon and headed toward the front yard. “I’m going to get Daddy Joe,” she called back to us. “He’ll get her down. He ain’t scared to climb that tree, so there.”

  “Wait!” I yelled. “Don’t—”

  She’d already disappeared around the side of the trailer, though. I grabbed Tommy’s wrist. “Come on. We can’t stay around here; he’ll find us.”

  Tommy wouldn’t take his eyes off Tiger. She’d squashed her belly against the trunk, and her claws were dug into the bark. She twisted her head around and looked down at us, mewing pathetically.

  “I can’t go anywhere. Look at her. She’s crying for me. I’ve got to help your dad get her down.”

  “Quit calling him my dad,” I snapped. “And come on. Now. We’ve got to hurry. If he sees me over here, he’ll send me back home. You’ll get in trouble, too.”

  “Me? Why? What’d I do?”

  “He knows! He knows we’ve been to where our dads are hiding, and him and Mama are going to tell Bud Castor and your mom. Daddy Joe wants to send us both away to reform school. I heard him.”

  Tommy’s worried gaze darted over his shoulder, then back up the tree at Tiger.

  “But what if he can’t get her down?”

  “He’ll figure it out. I’ve seen him do lots of stuff like that.”

  He followed me as I raced through the backyard, but he kept looking behind us every couple of seconds, and he wouldn’t stop fussing about Tiger. He blamed it all on Carla. “Oh, man. That does it. She ain’t ever allowed to touch that cat again, so help me God,” he said.

  We followed the alley toward the train tracks and met Ernestine by the Main Street crossing. She handed us each a piece of gum and a handful of butterscotch Life Savers as we headed out of town. I wanted her and Tommy to help me make plans about staking out the cabin without getting caught by Old Man Hinshaw, but the only thing either of them talked about was crossing the railroad bridge. I could tell the thought of it scared Tommy to death.

  Chapter 28

  We followed the tracks out past the glass factory, through the woods, then up the hill and around the big bend to the spot where Tommy had almost gotten hit. He came to a dead stop, pointing it out to Ernestine.

  “Oh, man. That’s it. That’s the place. I almost got killed there.” He went into the whole story again, telling her every little detail about the fall, making it sound like he was the one who’d saved me, instead of the other way around.

  We inched toward the edge of the bridge, staring down at the Oolitic Reservoir. It looked even bigger than I remembered.

  Tommy stood plastered against my back, so close I could feel every steamy puff of his butterscotch breath. I squinted against the sunlight and watched two fat clouds slide across the sky, bump into each other, and change shapes. Trickles of sticky sweat rolled down my cheeks.

  “You sure the trains don’t run on Sunday?”

  I jumped at the sudden squeak of Tommy’s voice. He stretched his neck way out, eyeing the water like he’d just seen a crocodile crawl out of it.

  “Uh…I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”

  He turned to Ernestine. “Do you remember if it runs on Sunday?”

  “Nuh-uh.” She chomped furiously on a fresh wad of gum, her gaze fixed on the far side of the bridge.

  “Quit worrying about the train. We’ll have plenty of time to get off the bridge if we hear it,” I said.

  Tommy snorted. “Oh, yeah? Well, I almost got killed by the darn thing last time we were out here.”

  I didn’t bother to answer. How many times was he going to remind me about that anyway? I checked behind us again, then took a deep breath before venturing onto the bridge.

  “Are you guys coming?” I glanced back at them.

  Ernestine’s eyes looked glassy, like big green marbles. “Ohmygosh! What if Old Man Hinshaw fires his gun again, like he did at you the last time, Billie?”

  “He wasn’t shooting at me. He must’ve been aiming at a rabbit or something. Besides, he’s real old. He probably can’t even see us.” I sounded way more sure of myself than I felt.

  Ernestine took a few shaky steps. She gasped, teetering each way, flapping her arms in frantic circles. “It’s making me dizzy.”

  “It’s easier to crawl. Just don’t look down,” I said.

  She dropped stiffly to her hands and knees, following me like a dog—one track at a time—staring straight ahead. “This ain’t so bad. You should try crawling,” she called to Tommy.

  We’d only gone a few feet when I turned back again. Tommy still hadn’t budged.

  “Quit acting like a scaredy-cat. I’m leaving if you don’t come on,” I said.

  “Shut up! I already told you I’m coming. Just wait a minute.”

  He moved one foot forward, stopped, then planted the other foot next to it, stopping again. Like baby steps. He never once looked up.

  “You’re going to get dizzy doing that,” I warned him, but he ignored me. I shuffled my feet impatiently. We hadn’t even made it over the water yet. At that speed, we’d still be out there the next morning.

  “What do you think your dads will do when they see us? You think they’ll be surprised?” Ernestine said.

  “They’ll probably mess their pants,” Tommy yelled from behind us.

  Ernestine doubled over, holding her stomach as she cackled. She laughed so hard her gum dropped out of her mouth and fell through a slit to the ground.

  “And after they mess their pants, they’ll tell us to get lost.” Tommy took another baby step and stopped again. He was still staring down between the tracks.

  “That’s not true. Daddy won’t tell me to get lost. You’re just saying that because you don’t want to go. You’re too scared to cross the bridge,” I said.

  He kept his arms plastered against his sides, stiff as stilts. I was several feet ahead of him, but I could still see the fear that flickered across his face.

  “I ain’t either scared! I don’t care, that’s all,” Tommy said. “I don’t care a hoot about my dumb dad.”

  “How come you don’t care about your dad?” Ernestine said. She was still chuckling as she crawled toward me, slow as a snail. Her hair hung in her face.

  “Because he’s a stupid jerk, that’s how come.” Tommy’s voice cracked. �
��He doesn’t care about me, not one bit. He thinks I’m a sissy. I heard him say it.”

  Uncle Warren had called Tommy a sissy? Even knowing Uncle Warren, that took me by surprise. I stared at my cousin like I was seeing him for the first time. He looked puny and frail, like a good breeze could send him sailing into the reservoir. I remembered all the years of school, when other kids, big bully kids like Goble, called him a sissy. Even I’d called him names. That was different, though. We were like brother and sister, and he’d called me names, too, like “know-it-all” and “smart aleck.” But how would it feel to have your own dad call you a sissy?

  No wonder he didn’t care what happened to Uncle Warren.

  “You ain’t a sissy,” I said. “You’re the one who socked Goble, aren’t you? Uncle Warren doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just dumb.”

  “That’s right,” Ernestine said. “He’s real dumb.”

  “Maybe I should turn him in. Maybe that’s what I should do,” Tommy muttered. It looked as if his mind were a million miles away, and in that instant I saw eleven years of hurt, eleven years of wanting the same thing I ached for now—a daddy he didn’t have.

  “I ain’t going,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry if I’m a sissy. I’m real sorry.” He took a backward step. His arms were still flat to his sides, but he’d started swaying, like he was getting dizzy.

  My body tensed. I knew right then we had to get Tommy off the bridge.

  “It’s okay if you don’t go,” I said. “I swear it. I don’t care. Ernestine can wait by the bridge with you. I’ll go by myself.”

  “That’s okay with me,” Ernestine said. “I never really wanted to go anyway.”

  Tommy kept backing up.

  “Wait!” I bit my lip, watching as he veered toward the edge of the tracks. “Get on your hands and knees. Crawl like Ernestine.”

  His face turned gray as ash. He seemed lost, like he didn’t hear me. He took another backward step.

  “Stop, Tommy! You’re too close to the edge!” I cried.

  “Don’t go any farther,” Ernestine said. “You’re going to fall.”

  Tommy kept muttering to himself and moving backward. I started toward him, my arms outstretched, but I couldn’t scramble around Ernestine quick enough to grab him.

  And then it happened, just like slow motion. Tommy backed up another step. His foot bumped against the rail. He stumbled, flailing his arms as he fell all the way down to the rocky shore of the reservoir.

  Ernestine and I screamed—shrill, terrified screams that pierced the thick air. I pulled her up, and we flew back to where the bridge met the land tracks. Tommy lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the hill, right by the edge of the water.

  “Go back,” I begged Ernestine, tugging her arm. “Go back! Hurry! Run back home and get Daddy Joe.”

  “Do you think he’s still—still…alive?” Ernestine could hardly talk through her sobs.

  “Of course he’s alive! He’s probably twisted his ankle or something. I’m going after him.” I started sliding down the hill, grabbing whatever I could to steady myself.

  “Tell Daddy Joe to hurry. But don’t tell him where we were going,” I hollered.

  Ernestine leaped across the railroad tracks like a frightened fawn and disappeared from sight.

  “Don’t worry, Tommy! I’ll be right there,” I yelled.

  The closer I got, the more I expected him to pop up and yell, “Fooled you!” He didn’t, though. He stayed as lifeless as the stones he’d landed on.

  I tried hollering to get his attention, but a lump had formed in the back of my throat. Instead, my voice trickled out like a baby’s whine. “Stop playing games. Answer me, please. It ain’t funny anymore.”

  All I heard was a family of crows, mocking me from the top of the bridge.

  Chapter 29

  I skidded the rest of the way down the hill and stumbled over the rocks to Tommy. I hardly recognized him. He was lying on his back, his head turned to the side, his arms spread out like limp, broken wings. His face looked puffy—all purple and bruised. Globs of sticky red blood matted his hair; some of the blood had trickled down the side of his forehead. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming when I saw a broken bone sticking out of his lower leg.

  “Tommy!” I dropped to the ground and touched his chest lightly. It moved—a slight rise and fall with each breath. I wanted to hold him in my arms, but I was too scared to move him. If only I could get him to open his eyes, to answer me.

  Talk to him, something inside my head told me. Keep talking to him. Try to wake him up.

  So I told him how Ernestine had run back to town for Daddy Joe. I told him how it looked like his leg might be broken, but other than that, everything seemed okay. I promised we’d get him to the hospital. Over and over I told Tommy how sorry I was. I told him how I loved him like a brother. I thanked him for sticking by my side for the last two weeks, for not squealing about the money I’d found. “You’re the best cousin anyone could ever have,” I said.

  I made Tommy another promise then. “I’ll tell Castor Oil everything. I’ll tell him it was me that took the money from the cabin. I’ll tell him where I found it, too. You won’t be in trouble anymore. I swear it.”

  Just when I’d about given up hope that he would ever come to, his head moved slightly.

  “Open your eyes if you can hear me,” I said.

  His eyelids fluttered.

  “Oh, thank God. Thank God you’re alive.” I touched his cheek.

  He moaned, his eyes opening a bit. “My leg.” He muttered so softly I could barely hear him. “My leg hurts.”

  “Ernestine ran back to get Daddy Joe.” I tried to sound normal, to keep the panic out of my voice. “He’ll take you to the hospital.” I looked up at the tracks. How long had Ernestine been gone? It seemed like forever. What if she couldn’t find Daddy Joe? What if Mama and him had gone for a drive, like they sometimes did on Sundays? And even if Ernestine did find him, it would take a long time before they got back to us—at least half an hour.

  Tommy moaned again. The next second his eyes closed. I shook his arm slightly, but he didn’t answer. Like a spark, I shot up from the ground.

  “I’m going for help right now.” My legs quivered; I didn’t know if I could even walk, but I couldn’t let him die. I had to do something fast. “Listen to me, Tommy. I’m going to find Daddy. He’s just over the bridge, so I swear I’ll be right back.”

  I checked one last time to make sure he was still breathing, then started up the hill. I don’t know what powered me all the way up it and back over the bridge; it must’ve been my fear of losing Tommy.

  I hurried down the wooded road toward Old Man Hinshaw’s cabin. About halfway there, parked between two trees and half buried by overgrowth, was a dark green Studebaker: Daddy’s favorite make of car! I inched toward the door and peered in the window. Sure enough, I recognized Daddy’s red shirt tossed across the driver’s seat. I’d been right, he was at the cabin. Trembling, I backed away from the car and slunk off through the woods, keeping a close eye out for Old Man Hinshaw.

  This time the gate to the barbed wire fence hung open. I slipped through it, then hesitated. The thought of going back inside that shack—of actually facing Daddy and Uncle Warren—made my heart drum a wild beat. For more than two weeks now, finding Daddy had been all I could think about. I’d been so worried about him; I’d missed him so much. But now—all of a sudden—I felt scared. My feet didn’t want to move.

  I couldn’t wait any longer, though. I had to get help. I made my way through the high grass and weeds surrounding the cabin, then up the porch steps. When I got to the door, Uncle Warren’s voice on the other side of it stopped me cold.

  “We’ll head over to Illinois on Highway Fifty-four and lay low at Mike’s in Decatur. Anybody tries to take us down, I’ll take them down first, especially Hinshaw.”

  I reached for the doorknob.

  “I’m go
ing outside,” Uncle Warren said. “I need to check—”

  He must’ve turned the handle at the same time I did because the door jerked open, surprising both of us. Uncle Warren stood there without any shirt on, his thick brown hair matted against his head. He scratched his armpit, staring at me. It didn’t take but a second before the blank look on his face turned darker than a funnel cloud.

  “It’s your kid,” he said over his shoulder. “What the heck you doing out here?” he snarled to me. “You alone?” His eyes, beady and suspicious, darted toward the fence.

  I pushed past him and charged through the door. “Tommy’s hurt! Where’s Daddy?”

  “Hold on there, Billie.” Uncle Warren grabbed my arm, pinching it hard. “I asked if you were alone? I’d better get the truth.”

  “Let go of me!” I yanked away from him and stumbled over a satchel on the floor. When I caught my balance, I looked up and saw Daddy in the kitchen doorway. He had a towel in one hand, a razor in the other. Foamy white shaving cream covered his chin.

  I ran to him, throwing my arms around his chest, knocking us both against the wall. The razor flipped out of his hand. “What the—”

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, Daddy. You’ve got to come get Tommy. He fell off the railroad bridge. He’s hurt bad. His head’s all bloody, and there’s a bone sticking out of his leg.” I buried my face in Daddy’s chest, whimpering.

  Daddy wiped his chin and tossed the towel toward the kitchen sink. He backed away and pulled my arms from around him. “Who else knows we’re here?”

  “No one knows. I promise. No one except for Ernestine and Tommy. You’ve got to help him.”

  “What the heck’s going on?” Uncle Warren snarled from the other side of the room. He cupped his hand over a cigarette and lit it. “What the heck you talking about? Tommy’s hurt? What is this—some kind of trick?”