strike again.
chapter 4
Ghostly Warnings
THE NEXT MORNING, wanting to be helpful, Kit brought a plate of scrambled eggs and buttered biscuits to Gran-mammy. After her first bite of biscuit, however, Gran-mammy’s hand went to her throat and she coughed and coughed. Kit raced back to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Gran-mammy took a sip and swallowed. “Much better. Thank you, sweetie.”
After breakfast dishes, Kit helped Dorothy Ann feed chickens and collect eggs from the nesting boxes, something she knew all about from tending her small flock at home.
As Kit helped hang a basket of laundry to dry, Miss Pearl gave her a smile over the clothesline. “Thanks, Kit. You’re a great help. But you’re on vacation,” she added, fastening coveralls to the line with wooden clips. “You should have a little fun while you’re here, too.”
“I am having fun,” Kit said, forcing a smile. She wanted it to be true. But between worrying about Charlie and doing chores in the sweltering heat, she wasn’t so sure.
The sun climbed high over the farm, and by midafternoon it turned everything steamy, including Kit. She sat on the porch, shucking corn in the shade next to Aunt Millie, who was slicing cucumbers for pickles. Droplets of sweat tickled Kit’s back and clung to her cotton blouse. She’d give anything to jump into cool water. Even the sheep’s water trough looked inviting—almost.
Mr. Henry sat in a rocker at the far end of the porch, weaving a basket from long strips of white oak that were soaking in a pail of water. His rocker creaked between pauses as he talked. “Before the national park stepped in, I lived with my brother and his family. Never had a wife or kids of my own, so taking a room with them suited me just fine—until he was forced off his land. He and his family headed west to start over. Not me. I wanted to stay.”
“And so you did,” Aunt Millie said, her knife flashing as disks of cucumber dropped into the bowl on her lap.
“Basketmaking is what I know,” Mr. Henry said. “It’s been passed down from my pappy’s side of the family for generations. And now the CCC’s wiping all that away, as if we never existed. God will surely punish the wicked. As in the Old Testament, He will bring down fire and brimstone, plagues, and any manner of serpents.”
Fire? Serpents? To Kit, the words stung, as if Mr. Henry meant them to be hurtful.
“Mr. Henry, my brother works for the CCC,” she said. “He isn’t wicked. Are you saying that God will punish him for the work he’s doing for the park and the CCC?”
Mr. Henry snorted in reply, as if the answer were obvious.
Kit turned toward Aunt Millie for support. “Charlie’s doing as he’s asked to do. He works hard. They plant trees and build trails. He makes a dollar a day and sends twenty-five dollars home every month to help our family. That can’t be wicked, can it?”
“Of course not,” Aunt Millie assured her. “But Mr. Henry was born and raised around here, and he has a right to his feelings.”
With a cough and a loud clearing of his throat, Mr. Henry drew a strip of white oak from the bucket beside him and began adding another round to his basket.
“What kind of basket are you making now?” Aunt Millie asked warmly, as if smoothing out a wrinkled dress with an iron.
“A rucksack,” Mr. Henry replied, “like this one here.” He motioned to the tall, tightly woven tote beside his rocker. The hinged lid was flipped open over wide leather straps. A small brass key dangled from an unfastened lock at the front.
“What will it be used for?” Kit asked, admiring it.
“Well, whatever its owner wishes. Works for carrying all manner of things. Kindling, tools, small game.”
A thought flashed through Kit’s mind. “Could it carry snakes?” she asked casually.
Aunt Millie sent Kit a don’t-stir-up-trouble look.
“Now why would anyone want to carry snakes?” Mr. Henry asked, leveling his pale-eyed gaze at Kit until she was forced to look away.
Aunt Millie came to Kit’s defense. “It seems someone put a snake in her brother Charlie’s trunk in his barracks. I think that’s what Kit was wondering about—just how it got there.”
Kit concentrated on peeling back the leaves from another ear of corn.
“Well, no one’s listening to us old-timers,” Mr. Henry went on, as if he were continuing a conversation all by himself. “Blasted park is going to happen no matter what I say. But God will be the judge on Judgment Day—if someone doesn’t take things into his own hands first!”
At his words, Kit met Aunt Millie’s eyes.
Kit kept her thoughts to herself as she worked. Mr. Henry had lost his home. He’d been staying with the Thatchers a few weeks already—the same time frame of the recent troublemaking. And he was certainly angry.
Hoofbeats sounded on the driveway as Kit dropped the last ear of corn in the pot. She stepped off the porch toward the sound. Around the bend appeared two horses and one young rider. The boy’s dark skin contrasted with the buff-colored coat of his horse.
“Hi. I’m Benny,” he called out, bringing both horses to a stop. “This is Honey,” he said, with a motion of his right hand and reins. In his other hand, he held the reins to a speckled gray horse, saddled and ready to ride. “And this is Cloud.”
“I’m Kit, from Cincinnati,” she called back. “Visiting the Thatchers with my aunt Millie.”
“Miss Pearl asked if I might be your guide and show you a cave,” said Benny.
Kit’s heart lifted. Caving and horseback riding? It was more than she could have hoped for, but she hesitated. “I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she told him.
“Cloud’s gentle,” Benny said. “You can pet him if you like.”
Kit looked at the horse’s soft brown eyes and ran her hand down the slope of his nose to his velvet-soft muzzle. “Hi, Cloud.” But as Aunt Millie drew closer, Kit’s enthusiasm dimmed. “I’m sorry,” she said to Benny. “I can’t afford much—actually, I can’t pay anything for a guide, or a ride.”
Miss Pearl had come outside and joined them. Now she spoke. “Kit, don’t you worry about that. We and the Bransons barter all the time. I’ll pay for Benny’s services today with a few dozen eggs.” Miss Pearl turned to him. “Benny, you must promise to take it slow and easy with Kit today. I want her back in one piece. Y’hear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Benny replied, sliding off his mount. “My pappy always says that first, you have to keep your customers safe. Second, you want to keep them happy.”
“He would know,” Miss Pearl agreed. “Can you visit a cave and get back by six o’clock for dinner?”
Benny glanced at the sun. “Looks to be about three o’clock now. Yes, ma’am.”
Miss Pearl turned to Kit.
