A Shiloh Christmas (11 page)

“That's right. Of course, none of us know what will happen in our future. But what makes Anne's diary so absorbing is that most readers
do
know what happens—that her family will lose their lives to the Nazis after they've been hiding out for two years, and as we can see from the beginning, Anne used to live a very comfortable, happy life. Someone else?”

Michael Sholt reads the first line of Tony Hawk's
Hawk: Occupation: Skateboarder
: “‘I felt the cold wind
that blew in from the San Francisco Bay whip across the top of the vert ramp and onto the deck as I walked around waiting my turn.'”

“What's happening here, Michael?” asks Mr. Kelly.

“He's competing in the best-trick contest at the 1999 Summer X Games,” says Michael.

“So he chose to jump right into the action—a very different beginning from ‘I was born in a house my father built,' but both are very effective. Adam?”

A tall boy over by the window reads the first line of Jerry Spinelli's autobiography,
Knots in My Yo-Yo String 
:“‘Like much of my life until that sixteenth year, it was a sunny day.'”

“What word does Spinelli use to tell us that something's going to change?”

“‘Until,'” says David Howard.

“And does something happen right after that, Adam?” asks Mr. Kelly.

“Yeah. His dog gets run over.”

I know right then I'm not going to read that book for a while. I really like Jerry Spinelli's books, especially
Wringer
, but I'll wait to read this one until I'm feeling strong.

I would have read the first line of the book I chose,
but I forgot and left it home—Gary Paulsen's
My Life in Dog Years.
Almost everything I do has a dog connected to it somehow.

Every day, after Judd leaves work at Whelan's, he stops off at one of the other men's houses on the way home to shower and clean off all the grease, buys his dinner somewhere, then comes to our place and crawls into the tent. In between, he says, he drives around looking for his two dogs. Didn't even name 'em. And now I'll bet he wishes he had. How can you call a dog if you got nothing to call him? Soon as the weekend comes, I'm going out on my bike and look for them too.

Ma invites Judd to eat dinner with us, but he don't. She saves a little something for him anyway and puts it in an old tin milk box out on the porch. Tells Judd to check it before he goes to the tent. And tonight, there's a light rain falling, and I'm sitting out there on the porch waiting for him, Shiloh beside me.

“Why don't you eat it out here where it's dry?” I call as he closes the door of his truck and comes over to the porch. Shiloh don't get up. Just gives Judd a sniff and stays close to me.

“It's dry in the tent,” Judd says, opening the lid of the milk box and taking out the little foil-wrapped package.

“Yeah, but I'll keep you company while you eat,” I tell him, so he sits down, collar turned up around his neck. It's early November, but not too cold yet.

“Your ma sure does make good cornbread,” he says, after he swallows a mouthful.

“I know,” I answer. And then I come right out with it: “Hey, did you run out of gas the day of the fire?”

“Now where'd
that
come from?” Judd asks, studying me as he takes another bite.

“'Cause you were getting a gallon of gasoline at the Exxon, and I just wondered, did your tank go empty?”

He smiles a little. “What you doing? Spying on me?”

“No, but someone else saw you, so I was just asking,” I tell him.

“Well, Sam Beringer called me to say his truck's runnin' on empty and he don't figure he's got enough to drive to a gas station—would I pick some up for him. So I drove over to the station on my lunch break and got it. But . . .” Judd shakes his head. “No use for it now. Lost his house
and
his truck in the fire.”

Judd could be lying, of course. But I believe him.

“So what'd you do with the gasoline?”

“Put it in my truck, of course. Not going to throw it out.”

Wonder if I should tell Judd about the rumor going
around, but decide no. I'll tell my folks, though, and after Judd says good night and goes to his tent, I do.

Dad just shakes his head. “Some folks always have to have somebody to blame,” he says. “Last year they were saying it was Judd who killed that man down in Ben's Run, remember? You'd think they'd learn a little about spreading rumors. Guess Judd's got a reputation that just won't quit.”

But it was only last year that the newspaper ran a story about him rescuing Shiloh, too. Wouldn't you think that would change some minds? Don't take much to ruin a reputation, I guess, but a heck of a long time to build it back up again.

County paper comes out on Thursday with pictures of all the charred burned-out houses and cars along Old Creek Road. Last week they had pictures of the flames high as the trees, and smoke rising up toward the hills. And the article says its been confirmed now—the fire started in old Mr. Weaver's kitchen, where he'd left a pot of beans cooking on the stove; he was outside checking to see if there were any more green tomatoes left on the vines. Forgot the beans. Not a single word about arson.

Grandma Preston used to say that some people
wouldn't recognize the truth if it sat at their table and ate off their plate. But I'm thinking that part of the problem is folks take Pastor Dawes's sermons to heart about looking for sin in yourself and your neighbor, 'specially your neighbor. 'Cause after Dad picks me up at Dr. Collins's clinic on Saturday, we stop at Wallace's store again, and I run in to buy a candy bar for Dad and me to eat with our bag lunch. Got the JCPenney catalogs to deliver this afternoon along with the mail. Dad's listening to a football game, so he stays in the Jeep.

Judd's there, third in line at the counter, buying a sandwich before he goes back to work at Whelan's.

“Hi, Judd,” I say, and go on over to the candy rack.

“How ya' doin', Marty?” he says.

The two women ahead of him have frown lines on their foreheads as Mr. Wallace bags their groceries. One of them turns to Judd and says, “I'm surprised you'd show your face around here.”

Judd's as surprised as I am.

“Why not?” he says.

“You'd best show your face in church before you go walking around the community,” says the other woman, picking up her grocery sack and hugging it to her chest. “Never saw you there once.”

“What church is that?” says Judd, still puzzled. Mr. Wallace
looks embarrassed, taps the woman on the arm, but she ignores him.

“The new preacher at Church of the Everlasting Life has been preaching about people like you,” says the first lady. “Everyone knows you set that fire.”

Judd's had enough. “Church of Everlasting Lies!” he says. He reaches around her, plops his money on the counter, and without waiting for change, barges through the door and on outside.

The women stare after him.

“Did you hear what he said?” one of them gasps.

“You accused the man unjustly,” Mr. Wallace tells them. “The inspection ruled out arson.”

But just like Dad says, some people don't want to hear the truth. “Everyone knows how he set his father's house on fire when he was a teenager,” the shorter woman says.

“That's not true either,” I put in. “It was an accident.”

The women turn and stare at me. “You weren't even alive then. What a mouth on you!” the friend says.

Mr. Wallace shakes his head. “That all you want, Marty?” he says, looking at the candy bar, and takes my money. Gives me the change as the women go out the door. “It's an uphill battle for that man,” he says. “Fate never did smile down on him much.”

What I really got on my mind, though, are Judd's dogs.

“You see any stray dogs around here?” I ask him. “One's white, one's brown. They were runnin' loose after the fire, but nobody's seen 'em since.”

“Don't believe so, Marty,” he says. “There was a collie loose for a time, but the owner got him back. Whose are they?”

“Judd's,” I tell him.

Mr. Wallace gives a low whistle. “Trouble just can't let that man be, can it?” he says. “I'll keep my eyes open, let you know.”

All afternoon, as I ride around with Dad dropping off those catalogs, my eyes are on the countryside, looking for Judd's dogs. On Sunday I help Dad work on the new room. Then I take off on my bike, stopping every once in a while to whistle, see what happens.

A crow answers back. That's it.

Rachel finds out I drew her name, so I can't put it off any longer. As we're leaving class, I say, “Got to get together sometime so I can interview you for that biography.”

She shrugs and says, “Whatever,” so I guess that's an okay.

Mr. Kelly says it would be a good thing to visit each
other's houses if we can, but it's not required. Just give a bit more local color to our piece.

“Would you come with me next Saturday?” I ask David. “I think maybe she'd be more comfortable if it wasn't just her and me. I'll even bring Shiloh, make things seem more easy.”

“She knows we're coming, doesn't she?” David asks.

“Not exactly,” I say, and I don't tell him that all she said was “Whatever.” But I'm thinking if I call first, preacher's going to say no. Don't want any boy coming to see his daughter. But if we just show up together, David and me, maybe it'll be different. And maybe Mrs. Dawes will answer the door, or even Rachel.

I skip work at the animal clinic this time, head for Rachel's house instead, Shiloh trotting along beside my bike. David rides his up from Friendly and meets me about eleven. We park our bikes against the front stoop and go up the steps together. David rings the bell—a good hard ring.

We wait and wait, but nobody comes. Nobody at the window, that we can see. David gives me a look. “
Told
ya,” he says.

We go back down the steps, and I'm wondering what do we do next. Shiloh's been sniffing at the shrubbery, and now he's disappeared around the corner of the
house. I give a whistle, but he don't come. I don't want him doing his business where he shouldn't, so David and me go after him.

Nice yard in back. Flower beds all dried up, of course, but got little fences around them. Know just where you're supposed to walk and where you shouldn't. A shed, couple of trees, ash cans out by the alley.

Shiloh's loping all around the edge of the yard, and I'm just about to call out to him when I hear something. Someone. Somebody crying. At first I think it's a cat, but then David nudges my arm and says, “Listen.”

When it comes again, Shiloh makes a beeline for the shed. David and me look at each other. Shiloh's standing there, ears alert, eyes fixed on the narrow door.

Now a couple of sobs come from the shed. Sound like a girl—could be either Ruthie or Rachel, can't tell. There's a slide lock on the door.