Tracking Daddy Down Page 17
Daddy Joe opened the door and knelt beside me. He tickled Tiger’s chin. “Is something on your mind, Billie?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, struggling to hold everything in. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I didn’t want to cry. All of a sudden, though, the plug popped. Everything spilled out—all of my hurt, my anger at Daddy, my fears for Tommy. I started to sob, big gulping sobs that doubled me over. I buried my face in Tiger’s fur.
“There now,” Daddy Joe said, patting my shoulder. “Let it all out, kiddo. You must be hurting pretty bad.”
I sniffled, looking at him through my tears. I remembered what Ada Jane had said and what I thought I’d heard him say. “Are you really going to send me to reform school?”
“Reform school?” he said, looking surprised. “Now where’d you get an idea like that?”
“Ada Jane said you’d already called the school.”
“What?” His eyes widened. He shook his head slowly before saying, “You know Ada Jane pretty well. What are the odds of her telling the truth?”
“Not much.”
“Exactly.” He took my hands, looking straight into my eyes. “Listen to me, Billie. I would never—ever—in a thousand years even consider sending one of my kids to reform school.” He pushed a strand of hair off my forehead, like Mama always did. “You believe me?”
I nodded.
“Okay. Now that we’ve got that straight, are you ready to see your cousin?”
“Yep.”
“While you’re visiting with Tommy, I’ll run in and check on Whitey.”
Whitey! I stopped in my tracks. I’d forgotten all about him being in the hospital, too.
“We heard from Mirabelle that he’s doing much better today.” Daddy Joe pushed the door to the lobby open, but I couldn’t force myself to walk inside.
“Uh…” I backed away from the door, my heart tap-dancing against my ribs. I had to explain what’d happened at church—to give him my side of the story—before Mirabelle had a chance to turn him against me.
Daddy Joe stood with his back to the door, watching me curiously.
“I didn’t mean it!” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean to cause Whitey’s heart attack.” Barely stopping for a breath, I told him everything that happened at Sunday School the day before, even the part about Whitey and the commandments.
He listened to my story without saying a word, without moving a muscle in his face. When I got to the part about correcting Whitey over “Thou Shalt Not Steal” being the eighth commandment, a twinkle danced across his dark eyes. “So that’s what happened?” he said when I finished.
I toed the ground. “Yes. I’m really sorry for causing Whitey’s attack.”
“Let’s get something straight here, Billie.”
I could hardly bring myself to look at him.
“You did not cause Whitey’s heart problem. Or his asthma.”
“I didn’t?”
“No. Far from it. Whitey’s had asthma ever since I can remember. And his heart? Well, let’s just say he doesn’t take very good care of himself. It has nothing to do with you. Trust me on that. Okay, kiddo?”
“Okay.”
We walked to the far end of the hospital lobby, where Daddy Joe stopped at the information desk and asked for Whitey’s room number.
“Are you family?” The lady at the desk looked at us over the top of her glasses.
Daddy Joe nodded. I bit back a laugh when he shoved Tiger’s mewing mouth into his pants pocket.
“Room one-oh-four,” she said, looking at us suspiciously. “Don’t stay longer than ten minutes.”
“You want to come in here with me before we visit Tommy?” Daddy Joe asked outside Whitey’s room.
“Uh…I…”
“It’s okay, Billie. It might make you feel better to see he’s doing well.”
“Okay.” I hesitated before peering inside the room. Whitey was sitting up in the bed, propped into place by about a hundred pillows. His lunch of applesauce, mashed potatoes, and meat loaf sat on a tray in front of him, and Mirabelle had a spoon headed straight to his mouth.
“I ain’t going nowhere until this lunch is ate up,” she said. “I know it ain’t home cooking, but you got to get your nourishment. Them’s the exact words of your doctor: ‘get your nourishment.’”
From behind me, Daddy Joe coughed softly. Mirabelle’s face crinkled into a smile at the sight of him.
“Well, lordy be! Lookit what the cat drug in, Whitey.”
“Guess you could say so.” Daddy Joe chuckled. He pulled Tiger out of his pocket and held her up for Mirabelle to see. “Billie and I and this little kitten stopped in to see how Uncle Whitey is doing.”
“I’ve been better,” Whitey croaked. He patted his chest. “It was a close call. Yes-sir-ee. I thought the Lord was calling me up.”
“He’ll call you up over my dead body!” Mirabelle said in a huff. She wiped a glob of potatoes from his chin and turned back to Daddy Joe. “He ain’t doing too bad, considering all the hullabaloo he’s been through over the last few weeks. The doctors say his heart will be okay, say it was mostly the asthma. Main thing is them nervous attacks he gets. Just works hisself up over certain things too much.” She looked straight at me.
I took a couple of steps toward the bed. Mirabelle watched every move I made like I was a panther, getting ready to pounce on Whitey.
Daddy Joe started teasing with her then, getting her to pet the kitten and tell him how terrible the hospital food was. I edged over to Whitey’s bedside. He looked as pale as the sheets tucked around him.
“I’m real sorry about your attack yesterday, Whitey. I shouldn’t ever have said that stuff.”
To my surprise, Whitey patted my hand and said, “None of this here is your fault. I just got me a wore-out old ticker, that’s all.”
“Hooey!” Mirabelle snapped from the foot of his bed. “Your heart ain’t no more wore out than mine. You’ve just been worrying too much over all them church responsibilities.” She started fussing over him again, talking a mile a minute and cutting his meat loaf into little pieces. I backed slowly into the hall, waiting outside the door while Daddy Joe said his good-byes.
“Do you think they know about Ada Jane stealing the church money yet?” I asked him on the way to Tommy’s room.
“It’s hard to say, but if they don’t, they’ll find out soon enough. Nothing in Myron stays a secret for long.”
The closer we got to Tommy’s room, the faster my heart thumped. I worried again about what to say if he mentioned his dad. “Should I tell Tommy the truth?” I asked Daddy Joe.
He thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t think it’s necessary to tell him everything. Some things he’ll figure out on his own.”
I remembered how alone and scared Tommy had looked before his fall. “I feel so bad for him. He never says so, but I know he wants a dad real bad.”
“Really?” Daddy Joe sounded surprised. “That should work out mighty fine, then, because I’ve always wanted two daughters and a son. I think Charlene would lend him over to us sometimes, don’t you?”
I looked into Daddy Joe’s serious eyes, and I knew he meant what he said. My face broke into a smile. I took his hand as we hurried down the corridor. I couldn’t wait to see Tommy’s expression when he saw the three of us.
We brought Tommy home on a Sunday. Before we left the hospital, he showed off for everyone on his new crutches, hobbling down the hall to get a drink from the water fountain. Of course, he started bragging then, telling everyone how the doctors and nurses hadn’t ever seen anyone get the hang of crutches so quick. To tell the truth, the way he wobbled around, it didn’t look to me like he had the hang of anything yet. I didn’t say so, though.
All seven of us piled into the station wagon. Daddy Joe, Mama, and Aunt Charlene sat in the front. Tommy’s cast took up the whole backseat, so Carla, Ernestine, and I got stuck in the very back of the car. Carla curled up on my lap with her h
airless, one-armed Kimmy doll. I wrapped my arms around her and watched the summer sky spin by as we headed down the highway.
The last few weeks whirred through my head, starting with the day Daddy and Uncle Warren had robbed the bank. It was old news in Myron by now, but I knew everyone would start buzzing about it again once Daddy’s trial began. It turned out he hadn’t robbed any other banks like Ada Jane had said. There hadn’t been a reward out for him, either. She’d just made all that stuff up. I knew she’d made up a ton of lies about my family, but it didn’t bother me so much anymore. At least everyone knew it was her who stole the church money, not me and Tommy. She’d gotten into a ton of trouble, and I’d even seen her in the church kitchen, scrubbing the sink and counters alongside Mirabelle.
I sat back and thought about the letter I’d gotten from Daddy, postmarked from the Henderson County Jail. He hadn’t been sent to the Pendleton Penitentiary yet; Mama said that would happen after the trial. In the letter Daddy told me how sorry he felt about everything. He said he’d made a big mistake by robbing the bank. I read it through a bunch of times, especially the part that said, “I love you, baby, and I want to get out of here real soon so I can make things right.” I’d stuffed the letter in a box under my bed. I hadn’t answered it yet.
I thought about everything during that car ride, but mostly I just felt happy to be bringing Tommy home from the hospital. He had Tiger on his lap, and I had Carla on mine. My best friend was sitting beside me, and Daddy Joe and Mama were squashed together in the front seat, right where they belonged.
I’d almost dozed off when I heard the bell clanging at the railroad crossing. Our station wagon rolled to a stop, and I looked around, watching as the big black train engine roared around a curve in the tracks, its whistle blowing.
“Hey!” Tommy said. “That’s weird.”
“What’s so weird about that? It’s just a train.” I poked his shoulder with the Kimmy doll and made a stupid face at him. Carla and Ernestine burst out laughing.
“It’s Sunday, that’s what’s weird.” Tommy grinned and poked me back with his crutch. “I thought you said the trains don’t run on Sundays.”
I felt my neck heat up.
Daddy Joe chuckled.
“Uh…I might’ve said that. I say a lot of stuff.”
“Yep,” Carla piped up. “You sure do say a lot of stuff. What about that time you said Daddy Joe was a you-know-what. That word I ain’t supposed to say. Do you remember that, Billie?”
“Umm…” The heat slid up to my cheeks.
Everything got quiet for a couple of seconds before Daddy Joe started to laugh—a deep, rumbling laugh I never knew he had in him.
Mama and Aunt Charlene raised their eyebrows at me, acting shocked, but Daddy Joe laughed even more before he shook his head and said, “I’ve got to hand it to that girl of ours. She’s not afraid to say what she thinks.”
I grinned at him from the back of the car—a grin so wide it surely showed the gap between my front teeth.
Acknowledgments
Oh my. So many great people to thank; so little space. Tricky business for this word-a-holic, but here goes.
First, thank you to my wonderful agent, Wendy Schmalz, for believing in my book; for your smart advice; and for your warmth, wit, and friendship.
To Virginia Duncan, my publisher, and the fabulous Greenwillow staff, thank you for acquiring this book, and for the extraordinary care you took with the editing, cover, and design. You’re the best!
A special, awestruck thank you to my editor, Martha Mihalick. What can I say, other than “Wow! How did Billie and I get so lucky?” Your attention to the heart of Billie’s story, thought-provoking comments, and tireless editorial guidance certainly made Myron, Indiana, a more memorable place to visit.
Special thanks to Kelsey Johnson Defatte, for your willingness to read and reread and reread yet again, and for your great suggestions. Many thanks to everyone else who read this book in various stages, especially Marcy Skelton, Catherine Ipcizade, Linda Provence, Barry Eva, and Lois Toureen.
A huge thank you to Ann Likes: your friendship and support saw me through this whole process. Thanks so much to my fabulous cheerleader friends: Amy Call, Julia Karr, Laura Ley, and Maryhelen Silverthorn.
Many thanks to my brother and sister-in-law, Mike and Linda Kelsey, for your enthusiastic support and for the umpteen manuscript copies you provided. A lifetime of thanks to my aunt Ann, for your encouragement to pursue my dreams. And to my wonderful in-laws—the Walters—thanks so much for your well wishes and good cheer.
And finally, to the fabulous guys in my life: husband, Terry, and sons Christopher, Eric, and Max, thank you for being my most treasured audience. Without you, this couldn’t have happened.
About the Author
Marybeth Kelsey has worked as a telephone operator, a hospital nurse, a scriptwriter, and a jewelry maker. Tracking Daddy Down is her first book, and it draws from her childhood memories of living in a town of 1,200 people. She lives with her family in Bloomington, Indiana.
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Credits
Jacket art © 2008 by Jacqueline Rogers
Jacket design by Victoria Jamieson
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TRACKING DADDY DOWN. Copyright © 2008 by Marybeth Kelsey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition DECEMBER 2008 ISBN: 9780061974045
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