7

MARC’S MOTHER

When Marc got home, his father had an idea that changed his plans for the next day’s exploration. “Where’ve you been, boy?” His dad was stirring up a box of macaroni and cheese.

“I—I rode farther than I realized on my bike.” Marc gave his dad part of an answer. “I was with Hermie and Eddie.”

His father frowned, but Marc didn’t say any more. After leaving the cave, it had taken him a long time to find his bike. That surprised him, since he knew the woods by the river so well. But when they’d escaped from Mooney, he hadn’t paid much attention to landmarks.

Hermie and Eddie had ridden on back to town without him. Hermie said his mom would ground him if he was late for supper. There was one rule at his house: Everyone had to be home for the evening meal. Eddie was too excited to sit and wait for Marc, and he didn’t want to help him hunt.

“You lost your bike, you find it.” He’d laughed and ridden off.

“Can I help with supper?” Marc brought his mind back to the kitchen and smiled as Bluedog drank a bowl of water, lay down, and was immediately asleep. She hadn’t wanted to help Marc look for his bike either, but she went along. She’d had an exhausting adventure.

“You can slice some tomatoes,” his dad answered.

Marc watched him stir the gummy mess. The kitchen smelled all cheesy. He hoped his father would remember to put the pan in the sink to soak, since Marc was in charge of dishes.

Marc’s dad was tall and blond like his son. He was wiry, but he looked thinner than Marc could ever remember. He looked worried, and it seemed as if he never smiled anymore.

“Did you get a letter from Mama?” Her letters always made his dad get even quieter—a hopeless look on his face.

“Yes. She says she misses us. She’s lonely, boy. I’m going to take the day off tomorrow and go over there, instead of waiting until Sunday. I want you to go with me.”

“Tomorrow?” Marc had planned on going to visit Mama Sunday. He had his heart set on going deeper into the cave the next day. But he wanted to see his mother, too. “Sure, Dad. You know I want to go.”

His father put the pan on the table on a hot pad instead of emptying it into a bowl or onto their plates. Marc remembered the candles that had gotten him in trouble when he lit them with his show-off match trick. Suddenly he wished Mama were here to fuss at him. Here to set the table with flowers and candles.

“Dad, are we ever going spelunking again?” Marc was getting tired of the silence. He’d try to get his father to talk to him.

“I don’t know, boy. You know I don’t have any spare time. The money is tight with your mother’s bills, and I need to keep my mind on my work.”

Marc thought if his dad had been out hunting clients, or keeping his mind on work, he might go along with the excuse. But many times when he’d come into the office in the front of the house, he’d found his dad staring into space. Unopened letters were piling up on his desk, and Marc had been there once when a client had stopped to complain about no one coming to check on a claim.

It got quiet again, and Marc switched on the radio. The Crewcuts were singing “Sha-boom,” one of his favorite songs, but he felt his mind drifting before it was over.

Something kept Marc from telling his father about the new cave. He knew what it was. He was afraid his dad would say he couldn’t explore it alone. And if he wouldn’t go with them, that meant Marc would have to forget they’d found it. He knew he couldn’t do that, and Eddie wouldn’t—Eddie would go in alone.

Marc decided right then he was going in, no one was going to stop him. But he was going to be careful. He was no chicken, but there were about a thousand ways you could get into trouble exploring a cave; also, he was responsible for Hermie, who’d never done any exploring.

There was another reason Marc kept the cave secret, too. It was time he started doing things on his own. He didn’t always need his father along as if he were a little kid.

Marc watched as his dad picked at his food, then got up, taking his half-full plate and scraping it into the trash can. He didn’t even think about Bluedog; leftovers were her favorite. As Marc finished and took his plate to the sink, he heard the television set come on in the living room. Only a few people in Pine Creek had television sets. His father had bought this one for Mama at Christmas. She hadn’t gotten to watch it for long before she had to leave. Now, every night after dinner, his dad turned it on and watched until after the ten o’clock news. Sometimes Marc wondered if he really watched or if he just used it as an excuse to sit and do nothing—an excuse not to think about what had happened to their family, which had once been so happy.

Running hot water into the sink, Marc watched the soap turn into foamy bubbles. He thought about Mama way off in that place, missing them as much as they missed her.

It was January when the doctor decided the cough Mama had wasn’t just a cough. He had run some tests and diagnosed tuberculosis. Marc had hardly heard of it, except when he read the name in his health book at school. He’d looked up the word again when Mama told him about it. What he really wanted to know was what no one seemed to want to tell him. Could Mama die of it?

Then she’d told Marc she couldn’t stay at home anymore. She didn’t want to risk his or Dad’s catching it. And she needed rest and full-time care to get over it.

It had snowed the day they took her to the sanatorium at Boonville. Marc would never forget that trip back home over slick highways, the world as cold as his insides. After that his dad hadn’t said a word for three days.

At least Boonville wasn’t that far from where they lived. They could go to visit Mama. It was hard to leave her there every time, but Marc had started to get used to it. Mama was so cheerful when they were there. If she ever did any crying or complaining, she did it after they left.

When Marc finished the dishes he walked quietly into the office part of the house. Quickly he dialed Hermie’s number. “Hermie,” he said, after his mother had called him to the phone. “I have to postpone tomorrow. I’m sure that will break your heart.”

“It sure does, Marc. For how long? About two years?”

“Don’t you wish. Where’s your sense of adventure, Hermie?”

“I guess I lost it out there in the woods today. Sorry. I’ll look for it while you and Eddie explore the cave.”

“That’s another thing. Will you call Eddie for me? Make him promise—swear—he won’t go without us. I’m going to visit Mama. We can go day after tomorrow.”

“Okay. Anything wrong? I thought you always visited on Sunday.”

“No, Dad’s just in the mood. I’ll call when I get back.” Marc hung up, walked back through the living room without his dad’s saying anything, and went to his room.

They set out early the next morning. It was another sunny day. Marc itched to be on his bike, heading for the cave. Then he felt guilty for the thought. Mama was going to be happy to see them before Sunday. Bluedog and Marc sat and looked out the window, and he tried to forget the cave.

Mama squealed when she saw them, and a big smile came over her face. It was worth postponing exploring the cave. Marc ran to hug her. Every time he saw her, she looked smaller. She had been sitting on the porch at the sanatorium with her back to the sun, rocking as if that was all the day held for her. She didn’t even have the knitting she usually had in her lap.

“My lands, Marc. You’re growing so fast!” She tousled his hair and patted Bluedog, who wiggled all over at her touch.

“Hi, Mama. Surprised to see us?” Marc asked, as he and Bluedog sat on the steps at her feet.

“I sure am. Norman, why didn’t you tell me you were coming early this week?” She turned her cheek up for his father’s kiss.

Visiting Mama was the only time Marc’s dad looked and acted normal. He smiled. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked, half scolding.

“The work will wait. I’ve got clients coming out of my ears. They’ll call or come back, and I’ll work all day Saturday.”

Saturday was usually a half workday. His father stayed open for the farmers and people who couldn’t get in during the week. Marc listened to his dad lie to his mother. But Marc would never tell her the truth himself. He didn’t want to worry her.

“What are you doing now that school is out, Marc?” Mama asked, taking her son’s hand in hers. Even her hands were tiny. Marc’s hand looked like a man’s hand in hers.

“Oh, not much. Riding my bike, messing around with Hermie and Eddie. They miss you, too. Mrs. Harrington doesn’t like us in her kitchen, and even Gramma Sparks’s cookies don’t hold up to yours. There’s a reward out for anyone finding Indian relics. We may poke around a bit, look for a grave everyone has missed.”

“Well, if anyone can find it, you can, Marc. I wish I could be out there with you in the woods.” Mama looked like a little girl, the way she’d taken to wearing her blond hair in braids since she’d come to Boonville. Easy to care for, she’d said, when his dad asked her why.

She looked tired every time they came, though, and her skin had gotten so pale. Marc had promised her he wouldn’t worry about her, but it was hard to keep that promise. What he could do was not let her know he worried.

“I’ll go say hi to Mr. Clearwater,” Marc said, after they had visited for a while. They never stayed too long, and Marc knew his parents needed a little time to themselves. “Stay here, Bluedog. Be a good girl.” He watched until she curled up under the steps.

Roy Clearwater was a full-blooded Osage. On good days he could remember some things about his childhood, or he’d tell Marc legends about the Osage Indian tribes, and how they came to settle in Arkansas. He said if he had any living relatives they were in Oklahoma now, on the reservation there, but his stories were about the past. The Osage had lived north of the Arkansas River and were a very warlike tribe. They had come into the area hunting buffalo and stayed because there were plenty of game animals. Marc figured any arrowheads he found in the woods were Osage, and most relics he and his dad had were from the Osage tribes.

When the Cherokee moved into their territory, there was nothing but trouble. Fort Smith was established to help keep the peace. Mr. Clearwater still got angry when he talked about the Cherokee. The old Indian man was a good storyteller; Marc could imagine the fierce battles between the warring tribes.

“Hello, Mr. Clearwater,” Marc said. His friend was sitting by the window looking out, probably visiting the past. “You look healthy enough to do a rain dance, but please don’t. I’ve had enough rain for the whole summer.”

Roy Clearwater chuckled. His eyes were clear. It was one of his good days. Most of the patients at the sanatorium were very thin, but he had somehow escaped losing weight. He was very tall. He had wattles under his chin like a turkey, and his face was lined and dark like old leather. He had a high forehead and wore his hair, still only peppered with gray, combed back and down his shoulders. With a little imagination, Marc could see him in full headdress and one of those fringed leather outfits with lots of beadwork on the shirt—or maybe with a robe wrapped around his shoulders. Roy Clearwater had a picture of himself as a boy, but he had on an ordinary shirt and wore a plain rawhide headband. Had Marc seen too many movies? Did real Indians dress a lot plainer than they did on the screen?

Marc couldn’t think about anything but the cave. “Did you ever go into any caves when you were a boy, Mr. Clearwater?” He knew that very early dwellers in Arkansas lived in the bluffs and maybe in some caves. The Osage were probably kin to those people.

“Oh yes. I used to look for things. Spears and …” The old man’s voice drifted off. He was back in the past.

Marc waited patiently, but Mr. Clearwater began to hum. The tune was almost a chant. From past experience Marc knew when he did that, he would stay wherever he had retreated for longer than Marc had to visit. He got up and said good-bye. Mr. Clearwater didn’t hear it. He might not even remember Marc had been there. It made Marc sad, but maybe it was easier for him to live in the past. It had to be more interesting than the sanatorium.

Marc liked the old Indian man. And Mr. Clearwater seemed to like Marc. He told Marc once that his wife and son had died a long time ago. So he had no close kin. Marc teased him that he’d be his kinfolk if he’d let Marc be Osage.

Maybe he’d tell Mr. Clearwater what he and Hermie and Eddie found in the cave. Mr. Clearwater would never tell anyone, or if he did, they would think he was talking about days gone by. Their secret would be safe.

Marc’s dad was extra quiet on the way home. Finally Marc broke the stillness. “Is Mama ever going to get well?”

“Of course she is, boy. It’s only a matter of time.” His father seemed angry that Marc had asked such a thing. But Marc wanted to know. He didn’t want someone to lie to him or to tell him half-truths—or call him boy, for that matter. He had a name. Had his father forgotten it?

Usually they ate lunch at the sanatorium with Mama, but today they had left early and gotten home just after one o’clock. Marc got his own lunch. Marc wondered if his father was going to eat anything, but he didn’t ask. If his dad wanted to ignore food or his son or anything else, Marc would try to ignore him, too. Especially now that he had a reason to sneak away from home quietly.

He piled a slice of bread with bologna, swiss cheese, lettuce, tomato, and another slice of bologna for good measure. Then he spread mayonnaise on the top piece of bread, turned the sandwich over, and smeared mustard on the other slice. It was a real Dagwood Bumstead creation. He could hardly get it into his mouth to take a bite. Bluedog sat nearby hoping he’d drop half of it. He had gone out on the back step to eat. He liked being outside, and he didn’t want to be in the house with his dad right then.

After topping off the sandwich with two glasses of milk and four cookies, Marc called Hermie.

“I’m back already, Hermie. We might have time to look around in the cave if we hurry.”

“I forgot I had to go to the dentist today, Marc. Mom is waving at me to hurry right now. She’s taking an hour off from work.”

“You’ll do anything to get out of going into the cave, won’t you, Hermie? This is going to be the adventure of a lifetime—or at least of the summer.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You and Eddie go on without me. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll try to get over it.”

“I don’t want to go without you, Hermie. We’ll wait until tomorrow, as planned. Eight o’clock, with sack lunches and warm clothes. Promise? You won’t invent another excuse? A haircut? A date with Louanne Swartzberger?”

Louanne Swartzberger was a girl in their class who was twice the size of Hermie and still growing, both up and out. She had chosen Hermie for a partner the day they had folk dance lessons in gym. Hermie suddenly had the worst appendicitis attack anyone in fifth grade had ever seen. Eddie and Marc secretly presented Hermie with an Academy Award for his performance, it had worked so well. Louanne was so mad she didn’t speak to Hermie the rest of the year.

“I’ll think about it while the dentist fills my tooth. I might decide the cave is the worse of two evils.”

Marc laughed and hung up. Then he thought of calling Eddie or going to the cave alone. But no one ever went spelunking without a partner. It just wasn’t safe; anything could happen. He’d have to wait. At least he didn’t have to worry about hurrying. The cave had remained hidden for years; no one else was going to find it by tomorrow.

“Bluedog,” Marc called. She had given up on the sandwich and flopped in the shade of the huge oak tree in back of their house. “Want to go swimming?”

Bluedog’s tail turned into a flag waving a Fourth of July salute. “Go” was her favorite word, and she loved water. She was ready.

The swimming hole down by the river where kids hung out all summer would be jammed, but it would give Marc something to do. He knew he couldn’t just wait or even sit still enough to read. He was too excited about what the morning might bring.