WHEN HE WOKE up the next morning, back in his old Willowby bedroom, it took him a minute to remember where he was and why. Then it all came back. He’d flaked out on his old bed after Griffin had awakened and moved her sleeping bag to the lounge swing. Surprisingly, considering the day ahead, he seemed to have slept very well. Struggling out of Max’s sleeping bag and into his clothes, he hurried from the room.
Griffin’s sleeping bag was still on the swing, but she wasn’t in it. She wasn’t in the kitchen either, but the window was wide open, and when he stuck his head out and called, she answered from someplace nearby.
“Here I am. I’m coming,” she called, and a few seconds later she climbed in the window. “I’ve been out on the veranda,” she said, “watching the sky. It looks like there might be a storm coming.”
She was wearing her jeans and shirt again, her hair was braided down her back, and she looked more like her old self. She smiled at James, but her face tensed as she asked, “Should we go right away? To see the Jarretts? Do you think they’ll be here yet?”
“We might as well have some breakfast first,” James said, “but then we can get started. It may take some time to find a way into The Camp. We’ll have to get in without being seen. And by then the Jarretts may have arrived. If not, we can wait.”
When breakfast was over and the cabin returned, as much as possible, to the condition in which they’d found it, they started out for The Camp. The sun, which had shone briefly, was hidden now by dark clouds, and a cold wind was rustling the pine trees.
“I suppose we have you to thank for this weather,” he told Griffin.
“Me?”
“Sure. A storm this early in the year? It’s obviously part of that hunter’s whammy you concocted. There’ll probably be a cloudburst tomorrow for the first day of the season.”
They were walking single-file along the path to The Camp, and Griffin turned back to him, frowning. “If our plan works, we won’t need a cloudburst. Do you think it’s not going to work?”
“No,” he said. “I think there’s a very good chance it will work.” There was no use worrying her by admitting how unsure he really was. But in reality, the more he thought about it, the more he feared that resting their case on an appeal to the Jarretts’ compassion was going to be an exercise in futility. But it was their only hope, and he intended to go through with it.
They tried the fence first, following it for a long way looking for a place where a nearby tree or cliff might offer a way over the barbed-wire barricade that slanted outward from the top of the chain link fence. But the fence had apparently been constructed with such attempts in mind. After a long futile hike, they turned back towards the lake. A swim in the cold, choppy water was not inviting, but it was beginning to seem like the only possibility. But then, when they were passing the west gate, another long shot occurred to James. He would simply announce himself, using his old pass number. The chance that it would still be on the list at the main gate was slight, given T.J.’s passion for record-keeping, but it was worth a try.
When a familiar voice came over the speaker, “Main gate. Sergeant Smithers speaking. Who goes there?” James’ heart sank. Smithers was the type who would go by the letter of the law—a law that would say that the Fieldings’ passes had been cancelled at the end of August. But having gone this far James persevered.
“James Fielding. Pass number one, eight, five, four, six.
Silence.
“You remember me, Sergeant Smithers. The Willowby cabin.”
“Willowby? Oh, yes. Fielding. You folks back for the hunting season?”
“That’s right,” James said truthfully.
“You been down to the office to renew your pass? I don’t have any record of it.”
“Well, actually, I’m on my way there now. You’re not going to make me go all the way around to the main gate are you?”
There was another pause and then, “Well, I guess not. You get down to the major’s office right away, though, and get that pass renewed. Okay?”
James said okay, the buzzer sounded, and they were inside the fence.
They took the long way around, hiding at the sound of approaching cars and detouring through the woods as they passed each cabin, and it was past noon when they arrived at seventeen Gettysburg Avenue. The Jarretts were obviously already in residence. The blinds were up, the garage was open and Hank Jarrett’s land cruiser was parked in front of the house. A surge of memories mingled with James’ already considerable misgivings and exploded into a complete funk-out. To burst in on the Jarretts with Griffin in tow, to face Diane again for the first time since he’d found out what she’d done, knowing that she knew that he knew what she’d done—it was all just too much. He simply wasn’t going to be able to make himself do it.
Grabbing Griffin’s arm, he pulled her back among the trees. “Look,” he said, “let’s rest a minute and have something to eat and think about how we’re going to do this.” His throat felt tight, and he wondered if his voice sounded strange. He led the way to a log, sat down and began to dig through the backpack. “Here aren’t you hungry? Have some survival mix.”
So they sat down on the same log where he had sat so many times with Diane, and James tried to get granola down his dry throat while Griffin watched him so intently that he couldn’t help wondering if she were reading his mind. Reading his mind and guessing how close he was to giving up on the whole thing.
“Look,” he said finally. “I wonder if there’s any point in our doing this. I just don’t think it’s going to do any good.”
She stared at him for only a moment and then got to her feet and started towards the drive. He caught up with her at the edge of the grove and grabbed her arm; and as she whirled to face him, he saw that her jaw was set and her eyes were full of tears. And then suddenly, he kissed her.
In a way it was as much of a surprise and shock to him as it must have been to her, because up until that moment he had still thought of her as a kid—or at least he thought he had. But it wasn’t the kind of kiss you’d give a kid. Not that it was anything much, technically speaking. Compared to all the kissing drills he’d been through with Diane, this one was very brief and uncomplicated. But the way it hit him was what surprised him. The thing was, it happened without any intellectual or sexual promptings whatsoever—with only a sudden overwhelming need to do something about the look on Griffin’s face. And it wasn’t until he was doing it that he realized that he’d never in his whole life wanted anything so much or in so many different ways. And when it was over, and Griffin’s face had gone from total misery to a kind of wondering welcome, he took her hand and started up the drive toward the Jarretts’ cabin.
They were all in the kitchen. Diane and Mike and their father were sitting around the kitchen table, Mrs. Jarrett was standing near the breakfast bar, and Jacky was sitting on the floor in the corner. The kitchen table was covered with newspapers, and on the newspapers was what seemed to be a whole arsenal—guns and parts of guns, boxes of bullets and all kinds of gun-cleaning equipment. When James walked into the kitchen, they all looked very surprised; but when they saw Griffin they were obviously astounded.
James found himself strangely calm. The emotional upheaval he’d expected on seeing Diane didn’t materialize. “We’re here to talk to you about the deer,” he said.
Jill Jarrett was the first one to get over her astonishment enough to say something. “Aren’t you the Westmoreland girl?” she asked Griffin.
Griffin looked at her. “No,” she said. “I’m Griffith Donahue.” Then, she turned to the others. “We’ve come to ask you not to shoot the deer,” she said.
“Do you know the police are looking for this girl all over the country?” Mrs. Jarrett asked James.
“Yes,” James said. “I know.” Jill Jarrett’s face was absolutely rigid with curiosity. Her husband was frowning. Mike seemed to be vaguely amused, and Diane—Diane was still sitting at the table, clutching a rifle in both hands and staring at James with an expression that definitely looked like outraged anger. As if he had been the one who had somehow betrayed her.
“Look, Mr. Jarrett,” he said. “Could we go someplace and talk for a few minutes. I’d like to talk to you alone.”
Hank Jarrett stood up, wiped his hands on an oily rag and said, “Well, that just might be a good idea, young man. It looks to me like you’ve got a lot of explaining to do to someone; and since this young lady’s parents aren’t around, you might as well start with me.” Then he led the way down the stairs to the trophy room.
Alone with Jarrett, it went better than James had expected. He told the whole thing briefly, starting with his own discovery of the valley and the deer and how he happened to share the secret with Griffin and her brother and Laurel. Laurel Jarrett, Mr. Jarrett’s own niece, who loved the deer almost more than anyone else did. James stressed that point carefully, and he also remembered to stress the certainty of full media coverage of the whole story. The entire country would want to know all about why Griffin ran away and what the deer had meant to her and how she had tamed it, and how she would feel if it were killed.
Jarrett really seemed to be listening. He only interrupted once or twice to ask questions, and one other time when Jacky came downstairs and stood in front of them staring at James and swinging the hand that held the golf ball back and forth. James was definitely losing his train of thought when Jarrett interrupted and sent Jacky back upstairs.
James finished his story, feeling that he’d made some headway; and after Jarrett started talking, he still thought so—for a while. Hank Jarrett began by saying that he understood how Griffin and Laurel felt about the deer, and that if it was up to him he might be willing to let the old buck live, even though he probably wouldn’t have too many more years anyway, and very likely no more years at all in this particular condition, since a buck past his prime tended to produce less and less perfect antlers.
“In another year or two, he’ll be of no use to anyone,” Jarrett said. “Too tough to make good venison and with a deformed and asymmetrical rack, whereas at the moment he represents a trophy that would break just about every existing record.”
James was trying to think of a polite way to point out that not everybody shared his enthusiasm for that kind of broken record, when Jarrett went on. “However, as I said, if it was just up to me, I’d say okay, let’s let the old buck die a natural death since that’s what the kiddies want; but the thing it, I have a kiddie of my own to think about. Diane wants this trophy very badly, and I’ve more or less promised it to her; and young as she is, I feel she’s really earned it. She’s worked hard at her marksmanship for years and especially all this last month. And, like I told you before, she’s a natural with firearms. Almost never makes a bad shot, so at least you wouldn’t have to worry about her messing up and making the buck suffer more than necessary. I kind of feel she deserves this one, so before I take this opportunity away from her, I’m going to have to get her okay on it.”
James’ heart sank. Leaving it up to Diane would have sunk it anyway, but remembering the expression on her face a few minutes before, it really hit bottom. He had a very strong feeling that if Mr. Jarrett was going to let Diane decide the deer’s fate, there was almost no hope at all.
Back in the kitchen Mike was filling a glass at the sink, but everyone else was pretty much where they had been before. Diane was still working on a rifle at the table, and Griffin was standing near the door with her back to the wall, looking pale but determined. Behind her, torrents of windblown rain were slanting across the window. The storm had obviously arrived.
“Di, baby,” Hank Jarrett said, “this young man has a very big favor to ask of you. I want you to listen to what he has to say, and then it will all be up to you. I’ve told him it has to be your decision.”
Diane turned her chair around, but she went on fooling with the gun as James talked. The tension in the room was so high you could almost hear it, like a crackle of electricity. James had trouble with his voice at first, but it settled down and he began to tell it all over again, just about the same way he’d told it to her father. When he got to the part about taking Griffin to see the deer, Diane’s eyes flickered up at him and her lip curled. “So it wasn’t such a big secret after all,” she said.
There was a silence broken only by the increasing whine of the wind and the drumming of rain on the window. “It was still a secret after Griffin and the kids knew,” James said. He wanted to say it wasn’t they who lied about keeping it a secret, but he knew there was no use antagonizing her anymore than necessary, so he just went on to tell why Griffin had run away—and how he had guessed, and followed her.
When he stopped, no one said anything for a long time. Everyone was looking at Diane; but she only went on looking down at the gun. She seemed to be breathing hard.
“Di,” her father said, “what do you think? There is your little cousin to consider, you know. And this thing about the newspapers. Some of those conservation crackpots who made such a fuss about The Camp are going to have a real field day over this one.”
“Daddy!” It was almost a scream. Diane jumped to her feet and started toward her father. The gun was still in her hand, and it crossed James’ mind that she shouldn’t be handling a gun when she was so emotionally upset. But at least she was remembering to carry it correctly, with the barrel pointed towards the floor. Running to her father, she grabbed the front of his jacket. “Daddy,” she said again, stamping her foot, “you promised me. You said I’d earned it. You promised.”
Hank Jarrett put his arms around Diane. “Now, now, baby. It’s all right. I know I did promise. You know I don’t go back on my promises.”
It seemed as if it was all over, and Diane had won. James turned to Griffin, to take her away and try to comfort her, but at that moment someone yelled, “No! Jacky. No!”
James put his hands over the back of his head and ducked; the golf ball whistled past him, and the whole kitchen seemed to explode in a deafening roar. For just a second he thought it was thunder, but of course it wasn’t.