Tuck Everlasting Page 5

  Was it true? Could they really never die, these Tucks? It had evidently not occurred to them that she might not believe it. They were only concerned that she keep the secret. Well, she did not believe it. It was nonsense. Wasn’t it? Well, wasn’t it?

  Winnie’s head whirled. Remembering the man in the yellow suit was the only thing that kept her from weeping. “He’s told them by now,” she thought, rehearsing it. “They’ve been looking for me for hours. But they don’t know where to look! No. The man saw which way we were headed. Papa will find me. They’re out looking for me right now.”

  She went over it again and again, lying wrapped in the quilt, while outside the moon rose, turning the pond to silver. There was a hint of mist, now that the air was cooler, and the frogs talked comfortably. Crickets soon joined in with their shrill, rhythmic song. In the table drawer, the mouse rustled softly, enjoying the supper of flapjack crumbs Mae had put there for him. And at last these things were clearer in Winnie’s ears than the voice of her thoughts. She began to relax, listening to the sound-filled silence. Then, just as she was drifting into sleep, she heard soft footsteps and Mae was beside her. “You resting easy, child?” she whispered.

  “I’m all right, thank you,” said Winnie.

  “I’m sorry about everything,” said Mae. “I just didn’t know no other way but to bring you back with us. I know it ain’t very happy for you here, but…well…anyway, you have a good talk with Tuck?”

  “I guess so,” said Winnie.

  “That’s good. Well. I’m going back to bed. Get a good sleep.”

  “All right,” said Winnie.

  But still Mae lingered. “We been alone so long,” she said at last, “I guess we don’t know how to do with visitors. But still and all, it’s a good feeling, you being here with us. I wish you was…ours.” She put out an awkward hand then and touched Winnie’s hair. “Well,” she said, “good night.”

  “Good night,” said Winnie.

  Tuck came, too, a little later, to peer down at her anxiously. He was wearing a long white nightshirt and his hair was rumpled. “Oh!” he said. “You still awake? Everything all right?”

  “Yes,” said Winnie.

  “I didn’t mean to go disturbing you,” he said. “But I been laying in there thinking I ought to be setting out here with you till you went to sleep.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” said Winnie, surprised and touched. “I’m all right.”

  He looked uncertain. “Well…but if you want something, will you holler? I’m just in the next room—I’d be out here like a shot.” And then he added, gruffly, “It’s been quite a time since we had a natural, growing child in the house…” His voice trailed off. “Well. Try to get some sleep. That sofa there, I guess it ain’t the kind of thing you’re used to.”

  “It’s fine,” said Winnie.

  “The bed’s no better, or I’d switch with you,” he said. He didn’t seem to know how to finish the conversation. But then he bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek, and was gone.

  Winnie lay with her eyes wide. She felt cared for and—confused. And all at once she wondered what would happen to the Tucks when her father came. What would he do to them? She would never be able to explain how they had been with her, how they made her feel. She remembered guiltily that at supper she had decided they were criminals. Well, but they were. And yet…

  And then a final visitor made her confusion complete. There was a creaking on the loft stairs and Jesse was looking down at her, very beautiful and eager in the faint blue moonlight. “Hey, Winnie Foster,” he whispered. “You asleep?”

  This time she sat up, pulling the quilt around her in sudden embarrassment, and answered, “No, not yet.”

  “Well then, listen.” He knelt beside her, his curls tumbled and his eyes wide. “I been thinking it over. Pa’s right about you having to keep the secret. It’s not hard to see why. But the thing is, you knowing about the water already, and living right next to it so’s you could go there any time, well, listen, how’d it be if you was to wait till you’re seventeen, same age as me—heck, that’s only six years off—and then you could go and drink some, and then you could go away with me! We could get married, even. That’d be pretty good, wouldn’t it! We could have a grand old time, go all around the world, see everything. Listen, Ma and Pa and Miles, they don’t know how to enjoy it, what we got. Why, heck, Winnie, life’s to enjoy yourself, isn’t it? What else is it good for? That’s what I say. And you and me, we could have a good time that never, never stopped. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Once more Winnie adored him, kneeling there beside her in the moonlight. He wasn’t crazy. How could he be? He was just—amazing. But she was struck dumb. All she could do was stare at him.

  “You think on it, Winnie Foster,” Jesse whispered earnestly. “Think on it some and see if it don’t sound good. Anyway, I’ll see you in the morning. All right?”

  “All right,” she managed to whisper in return. He slipped away then, back up the creaking steps, but Winnie sat upright, wide awake, her cheeks burning. She could not deal with this remarkable suggestion, she could not “think on it.” For she didn’t know what to believe about anything. She lay down again, finally, and stared into the moonlight for another half an hour before she fell asleep.

  15

  In Treegap, the same moonlight silvered the roof of the touch-me-not cottage, but inside, the lamps were burning. “That’s right,” said the man in the yellow suit. “I know where she is.” He sat back in his chair in the Fosters’ spotless parlor, crossing his long, thin legs, and the suspended foot began a rhythmic jiggling. He hung his hat on his knee and smiled, his eyes nearly closed. “I followed them, you see. She’s with them now. As soon as I saw they’d arrived at their destination, I turned around and came directly back. I thought you’d be staying up. You’ve been looking for her all day, of course. It must be quite a worry.”

  He lifted a hand then, ignoring their exclamations, and began to smooth the thin hairs of his beard. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’ve come a long way, looking for a wood exactly like the one you’ve got next door here. It would mean a great deal to me to own it. And how pleasant to have neighbors like yourselves! Now, understand, I wouldn’t cut down many of the trees. I’m no barbarian, you can see that. No, just a few. You wouldn’t find it different at all, really.” He gestured with his long, white fingers and smiled, his face crinkling pleasantly. “We’d be good friends, I think. Why, the little girl and I, we’re friends already. It would be a great relief to see her safely home again, wouldn’t it?” He clicked his tongue and frowned. “Dreadful thing, kidnapping. Isn’t it fortunate that I was a witness! Why, without me, you might never have heard a word. They’re rough country people, the ones that took her. There’s just no telling what illiterates like that might do. Yes,” he sighed, lifting his eyebrows and smiling again, “it looks as if I’m the only person in the whole world who knows where to find her.”

  And then the man in the yellow suit sat forward. His long face took on a hard expression. “Now, I don’t have to spell things out for people like yourselves. Some types one comes across can’t seem to cut their way through any problem, and that does make things difficult. But you, I don’t have to explain the situation to you. I’ve got what you want, and you’ve got what I want. Of course, you might find that child without me, but…you might not find her in time. So: I want the wood and you want the child. It’s a trade. A simple, clear-cut trade.”

  He looked around at the three shocked faces, and as if he were seeing nothing there but calm agreement, he smiled delightedly and rubbed his hands together. “Done and done,” he said. “I knew right away, I said to myself, ‘Now here is a group of intelligent, reasonable people!’ I’m seldom wrong as a judge of character. Very seldom disappointed. So! All that remains is to write it up on paper, giving me the wood, and to sign it. It’s best, don’t you agree, to keep things legal and tidy. The rest is easy. Nothing to it. Y
ou go for your local constable, and he and I ride out and bring back the child and the criminals. No—oh, no, Mr. Foster—I understand your concern, but you mustn’t come along. We’ll do this business my way. There now! Your terrible ordeal is as good as over, isn’t it? I’m so thankful I was here to help you out!”

  16

  The constable was fat, and he was sleepy. He wheezed when he spoke. And he spoke quite a bit as they started off, he and the man in the yellow suit. “First they roust me out of bed in the middle of the night, after I been out since sun-up looking for that child, and now I s’pose you’re going to try to run me all the way,” he said sourly. “I got to tell you this horse of mine is none too strong. I don’t have to hurry her as a rule, so most of the time it don’t matter. Seems to me we could’ve waited till dawn, anyway.”

  The man in the yellow suit was as courteous as always. “The Fosters have been waiting since yesterday morning,” he pointed out. “Naturally, they’re very upset. The sooner we get there, the sooner that child will be with them again.”

  “How come you’re so deep in it?” asked the constable suspiciously. “Maybe you’re in cahoots with the kidnappers, how do I know? You should of reported it right off, when you saw her get snatched.”

  The man in the yellow suit sighed. “But of course I had to find out where they were taking her,” he explained patiently. “I came right back after that. And the Fosters are friends of mine. They’ve—uh—sold me their wood.”

  The constable’s eyes went round. “I’ll be!” he said. “What do you know about that! I didn’t suppose they’d ever do a thing like that, friend or no friend. They’re the first family around here, you know. Proud as peacocks, all of ’em. Family-proud, and land-proud, too. But they sold off, did they? Well, well.” And he whistled in amazement.

  They thumped along in silence for a while, out around the wood and across the star-lit meadow. Then the constable yawned deeply and said, “You ready to tell me how long this is going to take? How far we got to go?”

  “Twenty miles north,” said the man in the yellow suit.

  The constable groaned. “Twenty miles!” He shifted the shotgun that rested across his saddle, and groaned again. “Clear up in the foothills? That’s a fair way, all right.”

  There was no reply to this. The constable ran his fingers down the gleaming barrel of the shotgun. Then he shrugged, and slumped a little in the saddle. “Might as well relax,” he wheezed, suddenly companionable. “We’ll be riding three, four hours.”

  Still there was no reply.

  “Yessir,” said the constable, trying again. “It’s something new for these parts, kidnapping. Never had a case like this before that I know of, and I been in charge going on fifteen years.”

  He waited.

  “You don’t say so,” his companion said at last.

  “Yep, that’s a fact,” said the constable, with evident relief. Maybe now there would be some conversation! “Yep, fifteen years. Seen a lot of trouble in fifteen years, but nothing quite like this. ’Course, there’s a first time for everything, as they say. We got a brand-new jailhouse, did you notice? Listen, it’s a dandy! Give those folks nice clean accommodations.” He chuckled. “ ’Course, they won’t be there long. Circuit judge’ll be coming through next week. He’ll send ’em over to Charleyville, most likely, to the county jail. That’s what they do for your serious crimes. ’Course, we got a gallows of our own, if we ever need it. Keeps down trouble, I think, just having it there. Ain’t ever used it yet. That’s because they take care of the serious stuff over to Charleyville, like I say.”

  The constable paused to light a cigar, and went on cheerfully: “What you got planned for that piece of Foster land? Going to clear her? Put up a house, or a store, maybe?”

  “No,” said the man in the yellow suit.

  The constable waited for more, but there was no more. His sour mood returned. He frowned and shook the ashes from his cigar. “Say,” he said. “You’re kind of a close-lipped feller, ain’t you?”

  The man in the yellow suit narrowed his eyes. His mouth, above the thin gray beard, twitched with annoyance. “Look here,” he said tightly. “Would you mind if I rode on ahead? I’m worried about that child. I’ll tell you how to get there, and I’ll go on ahead and keep watch.”

  “Well,” said the constable grudgingly, “all right, if you’re in such a ding-danged hurry. But don’t do nothing till I get there. Those folks are likely dangerous. I’ll try to keep up, but this horse of mine, she’s none too strong. Don’t see as how I could get her to a gallop, even if I tried.”

  “That’s right,” said the man in the yellow suit. “So I’ll go on ahead, and wait outside the house till you get there.”

  He explained the route carefully, then dug his heels into the flanks of the fat old horse, cantering off into the darkness where just a hint of dawn glowed on the edges of the hills far ahead.

  The constable chewed on the end of his cigar. “Humph,” he said to his horse. “Did you get a gander at that suit of clothes? Oh, well, it takes all kinds, as they say.” And he followed slowly after, yawning, the gap between him and the man ahead lengthening with every mile.

  17

  For the second morning in a row, Winnie Foster woke early. Outside, in the ring of trees around the pond, the birds were celebrating, giving the new day a brass band’s worth of greeting. Winnie freed herself from the twisted quilt and went to a window. Mist lay on the surface of the water, and the light was still pale. It looked unreal, and she felt, herself, unreal, waking where she had, with her hair wild and her dress all crumpled. She rubbed her eyes. Through the dewy weeds below the window, a toad hopped suddenly into view and Winnie peered at it eagerly. But no—of course it wasn’t the same toad. And remembering that other toad—her toad, she thought now, almost fondly—it seemed to her that she had been away from home for weeks. Then she heard a step on the loft stairs and thought, “Jesse!” At once her cheeks flamed.

  But it was Miles. He came into the parlor, and when he saw that she was up, he smiled and whispered, “Good! You’re awake. Come on—you can help me catch some fish for breakfast.”

  This time, Winnie was careful not to make a noise when she climbed into the rowboat. She made her way to her seat in the stern, and Miles handed her two old cane poles—“Watch out for the hooks!” he warned—and a jar of bait: pork fat cut into little pieces. A big brown night moth fluttered out from under the oar blades propped beside her on the seat, and wobbled off toward nowhere through the fragrant air. And from the bank, something plopped into the water. A frog! Winnie caught just a glimpse of it as it scissored away from shore. The water was so clear that she could see tiny brown fish near the bottom, flicking this way and that.

  Miles pushed the rowboat off and sprang in, and soon they were gliding up toward the near end of the pond, where the water came in from the stream. The locks grated as the oars dipped and swung, but Miles was skillful. He rowed without a single splash. The dripping from the blades, as they lifted, sent rows of overlapping circles spreading silently behind them. It was very peaceful. “They’ll take me home today,” thought Winnie. She was somehow certain of this, and began to feel quite cheerful. She had been kidnapped, but nothing bad had happened, and now it was almost over. Now, remembering the visits of the night before, she smiled—and found that she loved them, this most peculiar family. They were her friends, after all. And hers alone.

  “How’d you sleep?” Miles asked her.

  “All right,” she said.

  “That’s good. I’m glad. Ever been fishing before?”

  “No,” she told him.

  “You’ll like it. It’s fun.” And he smiled at her.

  The mist was lifting now, as the sun poked up above the trees, and the water sparkled. Miles guided the rowboat near a spot where lily pads lay like upturned palms on the surface. “We’ll let her drift some here,” he said. “There’ll be trout down in those weeds and stems. Here—give me the poles
and I’ll bait the hooks for us.”

  Winnie sat watching him as he worked. His face was like Jesse’s, and yet not like. It was thinner, without Jesse’s rounded cheeks, and paler, and his hair was almost straight, clipped neatly below the ears. His hands were different, too, the fingers thicker, the skin scrubbed-looking, but black at the knuckles and under the nails. Winnie remembered then that he worked sometimes as a blacksmith, and indeed his shoulders, under his threadbare shirt, were broad and muscled. He looked solid, like an oar, whereas Jesse—well, she decided, Jesse was like water: thin, and quick.

  Miles seemed to sense that she was watching him. He looked up from the bait jar and his eyes, returning her gaze, were soft. “Remember I told you I had two children?” he asked. “Well, one of ’em was a girl. I took her fishing, too.” His face clouded then, and he shook his head. “Her name was Anna. Lord, how sweet she was, that child! It’s queer to think she’d be close to eighty now, if she’s even still alive. And my son—he’d be eighty-two.”

  Winnie looked at his young, strong face, and after a moment she said, “Why didn’t you take them to the spring and give them some of the special water?”

  “Well, of course, we didn’t realize about the spring while we was still on the farm,” said Miles. “Afterwards, I thought about going to find them. I wanted to, heaven knows. But, Winnie, how’d it have been if I had? My wife was nearly forty by then. And the children—well, what was the use? They’d have been near growed theirselves. They’d have had a pa close to the same age they was. No, it’d all have been so mixed up and peculiar, it just wouldn’t have worked. Then Pa, he was dead-set against it, anyway. The fewer people know about the spring, he says, the fewer there are to tell about it. Here—here’s your pole. Just ease the hook down in the water. You’ll know when you get a bite.”