More Than a Hashtag, page 36
“I know y’all didn’t eat a lick, so I wrapped up some bacon and biscuits and filled a thermos of hot coffee. It’s a long drive back.”
Sheriff Lloyd thanked her, shook hands with Pawpaw, and gave me ‘nother big hug. He tipped his hat to Juniper and walked to his patrol car. I noticed he had a limp. When did that happen?
As he climbed into the car he hollered, “I’ll keep y’all posted if anythin’ changes. Don’t worry.”
He slammed the car door. The engine started with a roar, and he drove back up Norris Ferry Road headin’ to the main highway. We stood watchin’ him leave ‘til the sound of the engine faded into the mornin’ quiet and the dust from his tires settled back onto the road. It occurred to me the man drivin’ away from us was carryin’ a burden far too heavy to bear. Juniper brought us all back to reality by orderin’ us in the house.
“Hurry up, y’all; breakfast’s gettin’ cold.”
Soon as she said the word “breakfast,” I snapped outta my Monday mornin’ funk and smelled bacon. We all went inside and sat at the kitchen table, pilin’ our plates high with biscuits, bacon, and fried potatoes. But not even Juniper’s good cookin’ was gonna snap me outta a full day of mopin’ and attendin’ a good pity party in my honor.
“Hashtag, ‘fore y’all start eatin’ and ‘fore I forget, run to my office and bring me that fat envelope on my desk.”
I hurried in and grabbed it fast. It was addressed to Pawpaw, but had my name written next to the words “in behalf of.” I had a sinkin’ feelin’ in my belly, wonderin’ what that all meant.
When I got back to the table, everybody’d already started eatin’.
“I think we forgot to say grace,” I said, lookin’ from Pawpaw to Juniper and back to Pawpaw again as I sat down.
“‘Hippity-hop, pass the slop!’ Amen. There, how’s that for a prayer in a pinch?” asked Pawpaw.
Juniper snorted and rolled her eyes.
“I leave for a day, and y’all turn into heathens,” she groaned.
“No judgement,” I said. “That’s a fine prayer when we’re in a hurry. Are we in a hurry today?”
“You ain’t, Hashtag, but this mornin’ I’m meetin’ with Miz Fairbourn, the principal down at the high school, to decide what to do with y’all the rest of this school year.”
I flinched. “Pawpaw, I ain’t ready to go back to school,” I said, panickin’ but tryin’ to keep the whine outta my voice. “I can work here from my computer or do those packets they give out to sick kids. I just ain’t ready to meet new people and try makin’ friends.”
“Well, as your legal guardian, I think I’ll be the judge of that. But I ain’t havin’ y’all sittin’ ‘round here, wastin’ your brain and gettin’ all lazy from not goin’ to school. We ain’t gonna waste a brilliant Hopper mind on my watch. No, siree.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled and started eatin’ my bacon biscuit.
“Y’all can spend the day explorin’ the outside property. Just watch for snakes. It’s springtime, and we got a lotta . . .” he said, lookin’ over at me and catchin’ the look on my face that reminded him I was from the swamps of Southern Louisiana.
“Never mind. Just be careful, and no touchin’ the guns. When I get back, we’ll head on out to the deer stand, and I’ll introduce y’all to the wildlife we got here in Texas. Better pack us a lunch and some snacks too, Juniper. We may be gone awhile.”
That sounded fantastic! I didn’t need school. Please, Lord, let ‘em see I need to learn how to be a Texan and a rancher more’n I need math and science right now. I made a silent promise to start writin’ more faithful on my computer to keep my skills sharp. I’d even make an oath to read a book ever’ week and do a report on it if it’d keep me outta school the rest of the year. If things turned out like I prayed, this was gonna turn out to be a great day.
57
Ghosts in the Attic
#Henryhadasecret
* * *
While Pawpaw was off decidin’ my fate at school, I decided to explore the last place left in the old house . . . the witches tower that sat on top. It seemed strange I’d never gone lookin’ for it ‘til today. I had no idea how to reach the tower and hadn’t even bothered to ask Juniper. I was curious, but somethin’ ‘bout that room made me afraid and always held me back. Maybe it was that self-preservation thing built into the brains of all livin’ creatures. It was like the voice that takes the place of your mama when she ain’t ‘round to keep you out of danger, tellin’ you ‘Nothin’ good will come of this so turn away.’
Not today. Today I was gonna conquer the witches hat, so off I went ‘spite of my fears. The room was hidden so well, I’da never found it without Juniper’s directions. The rickety old stairs leadin’ up to it were hidden inside a narrow closet down the hall from Pawpaw’s bedroom. The closet didn’t have a doorknob and blended right in with the wall. It had an old key hole just big enough for me to stick my finger in and pull it open. The hinges squealed like it was bein’ murdered. That noise alone ‘bout scared the life outta me. But I left the door open and climbed the stairs with heavy feet and an ache in my belly.
The door at the top of the stairs was painted blue like a robin’s egg, but the paint was chipped and peelin’. I pulled back a strip of paint and found a drab, yellow color. The one under that was green. Land’s sake, who paints attic doors anyway?
If I used the thickness of the dust on the stairs as a measure, I didn’t think anybody’d been up here for years. It was like travelin’ back through time. I swatted and swished my way through the cobweb jungle. I really hated cobwebs. I was on guard, watchin’ for wiggly black and brown eight-legged bodies, ‘case these spiderwebs hadn’t been abandoned. I didn’t want Juniper to hear me up here screamin’ like a little girl if a harmless spider dropped down on my head.
Once through the cobwebs, I could see the dark shapes and stacks of boxes and old furniture fillin’ the room like cargo in the bottom of an old ship.
The room was dark ‘cuz the windows were covered with old, rottin’ blue curtains. When I tried to pull one back to let in the sun, the material fell apart in my hands. I looked ‘round for a light and found a long string. When I pulled it, a bulb blinked on, and the room filled with gloomy light. That’d have to do for today. Next time I’d bring a flashlight—or six.
I walked over to the brightest part of the attic where a coupla old trunks rested on the floor at the knees of an old chiffarobe and bed frame. Leanin’ up ‘gainst the bed frame was a stack of old portraits. I stood in front of ‘em and pulled ‘em toward me, one at a time, lettin’ each one rest ‘gainst my legs after I got a good look. Wow, if these were my ancestors, they were a mean lookin’ bunch. Maybe in the old days, nobody had nothin’ to smile ‘bout. They definitely didn’t believe in shavin’ their faces. I didn’t see no big pictures of women either.
I turned, then jumped outta my skin when I saw a face lookin’ down at me. It was an old framed photo of a man with bushy eyebrows and a beard so long, it hung below the picture. Written by hand ‘cross the beard was the name “Joseph Jeremiah Goodwin” in fancy, curly letters. The eyes that peeked out under his fearsome eyebrows were scary. I wouldn’t wanna get on this fella’s bad side for nothin’. Then I wondered what old Joseph Jeremiah did so special, he got his portrait hung up on a board. I didn’t know how the Goodwins or any of those other men fit into the family tree, but I saw nothin’ ‘bout any of their faces that looked like Pawpaw. Maybe they all belonged to my grandmama Cecelia’s family?
There were smaller framed photographs nailed to the boards of the wall too. A coupla ‘em looked like weddin’ pictures. One was a picture of three little girls in matchin’ dresses, wearin’ huge hair ribbons. ‘Nother one was a boy sittin’ on top of a giant bicycle wheel. I don’t know how he got up there or how he could reach the pedals to ride it.
The last one was a picture of a youngish lady layin’ in a bed with some spots on her eyes. I looked closer. No way. It was a woman in a coffin with coins on her eyes—they really did use coins like that in the old days. It gave me the creepy-crawlies. Who would take a picture of a dead person in a coffin? The past held some strange mysteries.
To take my mind offa the dead lady, I decided to open the trunks and see what they held. The first trunk was full of baby clothes and blankets made of yarn. Under the blankets, I found a lotta pictures glued in a book titled “Our Baby.” This mighta been my daddy’s book. The handwritin’ in the book looked like a lady’s. She’d written dates and events like “first tooth” and “first haircut’” and how much the baby weighed each month. There were cards and a scribbly crayon picture that looked like a round circle with long hair and stick hands and legs. The round circle had eyes and a smile. Somebody had written “Happy Mother’s Day. Love, Tommy.” Yes, this was my daddy’s book. My grandmama Cecelia musta saved these things. The clothes and blankets musta been his too. It all gave me a strange feelin’ in my belly.
The next trunk held dozens of photo books with black and white pictures taken way ‘fore my daddy’s time, judgin’ by the old cars and horse carriages. I looked through a couple of ‘em, but nobody had written names or dates on the pages. There was no way to figure out who those people were. I got bored after the first two books and decided to look ‘round a bit more.
I opened a box of old school books and colorin’ books. ‘Nother box had toys and games that were probably my daddy’s. More boxes, more collections. I loved the box that held all the trophies my daddy had won: baseball, football, and even a trophy for boxin’. My daddy sure was an athlete. Too bad I didn’t get none of his skills.
I was gettin’ hungry and realized I’d been up here doin’ nothin’ but snoopin’ for almost three hours. Pawpaw had to be done with his school meetin’ by now. I was ‘bout to pull the light cord and fight my way back through the cobweb jungle when I heard a crash behind me. I turned ‘round fast ‘cuz it scared the bejeebies outta me.
The strangest thing had happened. Lyin’ in the middle of the floor, a coupla feet in front of the picture of Joseph Jeremiah Goodwin, lay a smaller picture with a different fella. I had no idea where it fell from. The only pictures nailed to boards, keepin’ Joseph Jeremiah company, had been the weddin’ pictures, the three bow-haired girls, the bicycle boy, and the lady in the coffin. I knew the picture that fell hadn’t been anywhere close, ‘cuz I’d looked at Joseph Jeremiah for so long.
Suddenly, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and caught a big frisson. What was happenin’? I went slowly over to pick up the picture. The glass had broken when it fell, so I shook it out into an old box that held a few pieces of wrinkled tissue paper inside. The picture slipped easy outta the frame when I pulled it.
I could tell this was an old photo, ‘cuz the man wore some real old-fashioned clothes. He wore a striped suit with a vest and one of those watch chains that went from one vest pocket to the other. He had dark hair, little round glasses, and a mustache that was perfectly curled up on the ends. He wasn’t handsome or ugly. Just an ordinary dude. Like all the old pictures of people I’d found in the trunk, he wasn’t smilin’ either.
I turned it over, lookin’ for a name. Nothing was written on the back, but I found a card stuck to the back of the picture. It looked like some water had gotten inside the frame and glued part of the card to the photo. I pulled it off carefully. It was a note written in a lady’s curly handwritin’. Some of the words I couldn’t read ‘cuz of the water damage, and some places got torn when I pulled the card and picture apart.
* * *
August 7
* * *
My dearest Fathe . . .
* * *
I am writing . . . desperation.
My dear husband, Henry is not doin . . . This change came up . . . ortly after we moved here. . . . This seemed to start after a night fis . . . pedition he went of with some of . . . riends last month. . . . sickly and pale . . . of the day. Now he has taken to leaving in the . . . of the night. He claims his patients . . . him to visit them for various rea . . . mething is terribly wrong with him. He has not done well with this move to Texas . . . he city and . . . I am hopin . . . down for a few weeks and help me. . . . examine . . . his bizarre behavior.
I hesitate to tell you this . . . Hen . . . home with bloody clothes after these nig . . . ring almost every full moon. Most recently I treated an open woun chest. I have faithfully applied a poultice on . . . Nothing seems to he . . . Henry.
Please, I beg you to come and use your med . . . kills to help us.
* * *
Your loving daughter,
Amelia Jane
* * *
I read the letter twice, tryin’ to fill in the blanks. By that time my heart had gone cold. Who was the man in this photo and what had happened to him? Was Amelia Jane his daughter askin’ for help ‘cuz her husband had become rougarou!?
Suddenly, the attic was hot and airless. I couldn’t breathe. I needed the safety of Juniper and her kitchen. I heard the front doors slam and knew Pawpaw was home. I stuck the picture and the card under the back of my belt and pulled my t-shirt over it. I ran outta that attic fast I could. Spiders in my hair was the least of my worries. At the bottom of the attic stairs, I slammed the door and took a minute to calm down and catch my breath. I’d never go up there again.
I walked calmly to the front stairs, and just as I reached the first step, Pawpaw looked up at me and hollered, “Y’all ready, boy? I wasted a whole day gabbin’ at the high school, when we coulda been out in the deer stand. You grab the cooler and the food, and I’ll get the guns and the camo jackets. Get some flashlights from the kitchen junk drawer and a coupla packs of extra batteries. Everythin’ else we need is in the duffels in the truck. Hurry up now.”
I was in high gear, grabbin’ and gettin’ and doin’ so I wouldn’t keep him waitin’. While I was gatherin’ stuff in the kitchen, I hid the photo and the note under the dish towels in the drawer. Pawpaw sometimes moved slow as cold tar, but when he got a bee in his bonnet, he was lightnin’ fast. I could tell he couldn’t wait to get to the forest. We were off bumpin’ down the dirt road into the woods in no time. Juniper’d packed ‘nough for a Boy Scout troop, and I was starvin’. I hoped we’d eat ‘fore we got down to whatever business Pawpaw had planned. I really wanted to hear ‘bout my fate for the rest of the school year. But more’n that, I wanted my mind offa the man in the picture and the rougarou.
58
Secrets in the Forest
#TomHopperschooloflife
* * *
The deer stand wasn’t very far. For some reason, that kinda surprised me. I was thinkin’ we were goin’ on an adventure deep into the wilderness. Pawpaw drove the truck ‘bout a half mile into the forest behind the house. I got the impression this road wasn’t used by anybody but Pawpaw. It was barely wide ‘nough for us to drive through. Dead tree branches and brush reached out for the truck, like the fingernails of old wooden skeleton hands.
After bouncin’ ‘round in the truck like jumpin’ beans, we finally stopped and parked the truck next to a trail leadin’ deeper into the woods.
We piled our arms high with the gear we needed and set off single file down a narrow path. I noticed Pawpaw was carryin’ a coupla canvas gun cases, and I figured we was probably gonna do some shootin’.
I was absolutely dyin’ to ask him ‘bout the meetin’ with the principal this mornin’. This here wasn’t the right time to question him. His hearin’ wasn’t great when he was sittin’ ‘cross from me, so there was zero chance he’d hear the question, and I’d be brave ‘nough to ask him only once.
We finally came to a little clearin’ ‘bout fifty yards from where we’d left the truck. Even though it wasn’t far, it seemed we’d been walkin’ forever.
“Well, whadda ya think, Hashtag?” Pawpaw asked with a wide grin on his face.
“What am I supposed to be thinkin’ ‘bout?” I answered, lookin’ at him and then ‘round the clearin’, noticin’ nothin’ in particular.
“Come on, y’all can do better’n that. Don’t ya see it? Open your eyes and study your surroundin’s,” Pawpaw said, clearly tryin’ to hide a smile.
I turned in a circle, tryin’ to find anythin’ that looked outta place. Then I saw it.
The big live oak tree off to the left of the clearing had wooden slats nailed to its thick trunk to form a ladder. My eyes followed the makeshift ladder rungs. ‘Bout seven feet up, the platform of a tree house rested anchored on a base of strong, thick limbs.
“A deer stand! In a tree! That’s so cool!” I hollered. “I ain’t never seen one actually up in a tree. Mr. Bubba has a nice one, but it’s on stilts and hidden in the brush. Y’all’s is AH-MAZINING!” I proclaimed.
Pawpaw was laughin’.
“I built this stand with Cecelia’s daddy right after we got married. I think today they’d call it a ‘man cave.’ I’ve spent more’n a few nights out here when Cecelia locked me out ‘cuz she was mad at me for one thing or ‘nother. It’s the best thinkin’ place in all East Texas. Not to mention, you’re practically invisible when you’re waitin’ for a deer or turkey or pheasant to come waltzin’ outta the woods.”
“Are we gonna hunt up there today?”
“Well, depends on how much ya know ‘bout huntin’ and shootin’.”
“I know all ‘bout shootin’. Me and Chilly took a Boy Scout gun safety class and went with Mr. Bubba to his stand all the time. We used to go squirrel huntin’ by ourselves. Chilly’s a great shot. . . . um . . . was a great shot.”
Some of the happy went outta my heart. I’d never get used to talkin’ ‘bout Chilly in the past tense.
