CHAPTER 7

STOLEN BIRDS

A strangled cry escaped from Pam’s throat. Something had happened to Orleans, her second-best cock! He was the only bird she had that was solid black.

Pam’s fear was confirmed inside the loft. Orleans was gone. Little Verdun, usually saucy with snapping, bright eyes, sat alone in the nest box with her wings drooping. She missed her mate.

Pam felt sick. It was clear what had happened. Since she had refused to sell Arminger any pigeons, he had decided to up and take one. But why had he stolen only Orleans and not Verdun? A cock wouldn’t do him much good without a hen. Unless he planned to mate Orleans with a bird of his own.

Angry thoughts whirled through Pam’s head. She’d known from the start Arminger wasn’t to be trusted; she’d had a funny feeling about him all along. All that money, the man thought he could do as he pleased. Well, he wouldn’t get away with stealing her pigeon. She wouldn’t let him. All she needed was proof. Proof that he had been lurking about on the farm, waiting for a chance to make his move.

The only proof she had was that cigarette butt down by the barn.

Pam searched all over for the butt, but she knew it was pointless. The storm had washed away every trace.

Pam poured out her thoughts to Mama on the walk into town that morning. The weather was far too rough to risk taking the skiff. Mama felt bad for Pam, but she said there was no way they could prove Arminger had stolen Orleans. “Maybe Orleans somehow escaped on his own,” she suggested.

Any pigeoneer would know better, Pam thought fiercely. No homer would venture out in a storm like that on its own. But she didn’t dare say that to Mama. Mama would call it impudence.

By the time Pam got to school, it was past recess. She had missed spelling, thank goodness, but she had also missed half the arithmetic lesson. Now she would never get the hang of fractions. Never. At least Henry wasn’t there to torment her today. Maybe he had caught the grippe and would be sick in bed for days. Or weeks. Mama would scold her for wishing him ill, but Pam couldn’t help it. If anybody deserved the grippe, it was Henry.

The rain stopped about the time school got out, but the sky, gray as shingles, promised more later. Pam walked Nina home and told her all about Arminger and the stolen pigeon. Nina agreed entirely with Pam, as usual.

“Of course he did it, Pam,” said Nina matter-of-factly. “He’s a German. What d’you expect?”

“Well, no one knows for sure he’s a German,” Pam said. She wasn’t sure why she felt obligated to offer that defense, especially for a rat like Arminger. “But he sure does act like one,” she threw in quickly.

“Look, Pam.” Nina pointed to the sawmill down by the riverbank. “Speak of the devil. Or devils.” Arminger and two other men Pam didn’t know were loading his truck with lumber. And there was Henry, lolling around the truck, his jaw pumping up and down like he was talking their ears off.

“What’s Henry doing over there?” Nina said.

“Probably pestering ’em to death. Good! Arminger deserves Henry!” There was bitterness in Pam’s voice.

“Wonder why Henry wasn’t in school today,” Nina said.

“I don’t care. He can play hooky every day if he wants to. The less I see of Henry Bagley the better.”

Pam left Nina at her gate and went on alone to the drugstore. Alice Bagley and Louisa White were sitting on the front steps of the store, sipping lemonade from tall glasses.

“Hey, Pam,” said Alice. “I been dying to talk to you all day.”

“Yeah? You saw me at school,” said Pam, a little irked. Alice was always too busy with her friends to speak to Pam at school.

“Well, you were talking to Nina and all.” Alice pursed her lips and sipped from the glass. “I thought you’d want to know Henry got it from Pa last night for picking a fight with you. Henry tried to make out like you started it all, but I told Pa what really happened.”

“Oh.” Pam stumbled for something appropriate to say. Maybe Alice was trying to be nice, but she always made Pam feel like a charity case. Alice’s face said she expected to be thanked, but Pam couldn’t push gracious words off her tongue. Her pride wouldn’t let her. “That’s good, Alice” was the best she could manage. Pam chewed nervously on the inside of her lip, while an awkward silence stretched between them.

Finally Alice broke it. “Just keep an eye on him. He’s hopping mad.”

“Says he’s going to get even with you,” Louisa added dramatically.

Pam’s temper flared. When would Henry Bagley leave her be? “Tell him I’m quaking like a rabbit.” She marched past them and up the steps, seething. That Henry was worse than a redbug for getting under her skin. She took a deep breath to calm herself before she went into the store. It wouldn’t do for Mama to see her so riled over Henry again.

Pam didn’t mention a thing about Henry to Mama, but she did tell Mama she saw Arminger loading up his truck with lumber.

“Oh, yeah,” said Mama. “We been hearing all morning about how much money that man is spending. Wonder where he gets it from, in these times.” Mama was at the cash register, counting the day’s receipts.

“Don’t know ’bout that, but word is he’s fixing up old man Sanders’ place. Which sets tongues wagging even faster.” Mr. Bagley’s voice boomed from the back room where he mixed prescriptions. Pam could see him through the service window, pouring liquids into a medicine glass. He stirred the concoction, poured it into a bottle, and brought it to the cash register where Mama was closing out the drawer. “For Luther Truitt when he comes in tomorrow morning. His boy’s got the croup,” Mr. Bagley said to Mama. Then he looked at Pam and winked. “Sanders was a sorcerer, y’know. Minnie Midyette swears old Sanders hexed her pa’s fishing nets and put him out of business.”

Mama snorted. “Merl Midyette put himself out of business by sleeping till noon every day.”

“Still,” said Mr. Bagley, “folks been scared of that old place ever since Sanders passed on. It’s haunted, they say, and Arminger’s asking for trouble by moving in there.”

A clap of thunder startled Pam; rain suddenly pounded on the roof. The front door slammed, and Alice and Louisa dashed in with water streaming down their faces and dripping off their frilly white dresses. With their bobs pasted flat to their heads, they looked bald as newborn possums. Pam tried hard to suppress a giggle. Mr. Bagley laughed out loud.

“Pa, it’s not funny,” Alice whined. “My new dress is ruined.”

“Sears-Roebuck dries just like homemade, my dear,” said Mr. Bagley. “Ain’t no sense in having clothes too fancy for Currituck weather. You girls seen Henry? I want him to tote Miz Lowder and Pam home in the buggy.”

Pam groaned inwardly. Given a choice between swimming in a riptide and riding home with Henry, Pam thought she would choose the riptide.

Henry was far worse than the riptide, Pam decided. The boy bragged for a solid hour, all the way home. Mama sat up front with him, saying “Ain’t that something” and “I know your ma and pa are real proud of you, Henry.” Pam sat in back, rolling her eyes and wondering how long a body could go on about one blessed picture show he saw in Norfolk.

The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle that robbed the landscape of its fall brilliance. The rich red of the sumacs and maples was dulled to the color of old bricks, and the yellows of the willow and black cherry trees were a washed-out beige. Pam felt listless and depressed. The buggy ride seemed endless. Finally she saw the wind-twisted cedar that stood watch at the edge of their property.

But Henry wasn’t about to shut up. “I reckon you know I been made head of the Boys’ Relief Corps, Miz Lowder.”

“Yes, Henry, I do recollect you mentioning something about that,” said Mama.

“That’s ’cause he’s mentioned it about five times,” retorted Pam. Mama’s scorching look in her direction kept Pam from adding and that’s only today. Great goodness, Pam told herself, you’d think Henry would catch on that everyone knew he was only appointed because his father was Red Cross director. But no, he would go on and on as if he was a flying ace shooting down German airplanes.

“I’m in charge of putting all the boys in town to work raising fall gardens to help out the war effort.” Henry, still boasting, drove the buggy up under the grove of live oaks in the Lowders’ front yard. Beneath the canopy of leaves and Spanish moss, the ground was barely wet.

Pam scrambled out of the buggy before the wheels stopped turning. She thought she would be sick if she had to listen to Henry any longer. She caught hold of the horse’s bridle, caressing its velvety muzzle to calm herself. She had always wanted a horse, but all they’d ever had was old Trixie the mule. Trixie had up and died this past summer, and Mama said there wasn’t money nor reason to replace her; they’d not be plowing with Papa gone, and it was faster to row into town than to take the wagon, anyway. Pam missed Trixie, even if she was the stubbornest thing this side of the Currituck River.

“I reckon you got your hands full, Henry,” Mama said as she climbed out of the buggy. “Hope you’ll still be able to come help us out on Saturday.”

“That’s just it. I can’t come Saturday. I got to go ’round and get some of the boys started on their gardens,” Henry said. “But Pa says I got to come out to your place sometime, so he said to skip church Sunday and come. Ma says it’s okay since it’s our Christian duty to help out those less fortunate than us.”

Pam’s temper shot sky-high. She’d give Henry Big-mouth a Christian duty! It wasn’t like they had ever asked for his help, and as far as Pam was concerned, they’d be better off without it. She couldn’t believe Henry would dare smart off like that to Mama. She rubbed the horse’s cheek with long, firm strokes, waiting for Mama to deliver Henry’s tongue-lashing.

But instead of giving Henry what-for, Mama thanked him—thanked him! “We’ll expect you for Sunday dinner then,” she said, as if Henry had tipped his hat instead of insulted them.

Pam seethed. Mama and her southern courtesy! If Pam had things her way, she’d teach Henry a thing or two about courtesy, she sure would. Furiously she stroked the horse’s neck.

Then Henry had the gall to ask what they were having for dinner. “Corned ham? I love it stuck full of cloves,” he said with longing.

Pam couldn’t contain her temper a minute longer. “You know good and well we gave up eating ham for the war effort!” The horse stamped its foot and whinnied.

“Now, Pam,” said Mama evenly. “Henry likely don’t know we pledged to give up pork entirely, ’stead of just on Thursdays and Saturdays like the government asked. I’ll stew a chicken, Henry, and make persimmon pudding. How’s that?”

“Yes’m, that sounds mighty good.” Henry was getting down from the buggy. He planned to stay! Well, he had another think coming if he planned to tag along with Pam. She was so mad right now she felt like she would bust wide open. “I’ll be down at my loft, Mama,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Hold on,” said Henry, “I’m coming, too. I ain’t seen your pigeons in a while—not since they got famous. Hah.” His voice was mocking.

Pam’s stomach quivered like a sack full of hornets. She glared at Henry, her lips trembling with angry words she couldn’t say. She whirled and stalked down the slope to the loft. The cold drizzle raised goose pimples on her arms. Behind her, Henry’s boots thudded in the sand, and she picked up her pace. Maybe she couldn’t stop him from following her, but she could make it clear he wasn’t welcome.

The loft looked forlorn in the gray mist. Pam noticed the whitewash had faded and the roof sagged a little on one side. Papa had always prided himself on keeping their outbuildings in fine shape. Papa’s not here anymore, an inner voice murmured. A sense of gloom overwhelmed her, and she rushed into the loft before Henry could see the tears welling up in her eyes.

A soft groo-groo greeted Pam inside. A few birds whirred from their perches to the floor, anticipating dinner. The sounds of her pigeons were gentle and soothing. She felt the tension slowly drain from her muscles.

Then Henry burst through the door, and the pigeons set up a frenzied din. “It smells in here,” he announced loudly.

But his comment didn’t register with Pam. She was too intent on frantically searching every nest box in the loft.

Another pigeon was missing. And this time it was Caspian.