ces.
We sat there, our backs against the side of the cabin, she drinking, me pretending to drink the soup. We were so quiet that we could hear the late-afternoon breeze stirring the leaves and the lazy chirping of the birds. The insects were down to a low hum. It was peaceful in the woods. Even the sound of Zeb's snoring was muffled by the log wall. Then it stopped. We could hear him shudder to his feet and begin rattling around the cabin.
Suddenly, a roar of "Viiiiile!" I froze, and beside me I felt Vile do the same.
"Paw," she whispered.
He came thundering out the door. Before this I'd only seen him as a sort of stupid old man, but Zeb was transformed. His eyes were blazing, his mouth wide showing all his rotting teeth. He looked seven feet tall, waving his arms about and bellowing, "Where is it? Which of you varmints stole my bottle? I'll kill the bustard!"
11. Among the Stones
VILE AND I WERE BOTH ON OUR FEET. AS I JUMPED UP, Zeb's tin cup bounced to the ground splattering greasy soup on my bare feet and the bottom of my britches legs.
"Where's m' bottle, I say!" Neither Vile nor I made a sound; we just stood there backed against the wall.
Zeb lunged for Vile, grabbed her by her thin shoulders, and shook her like a cat shakes its quarry before it kills it. "Don't play dumb with me, girl. I know you got it!"
She's a brave one, that Vile. She kept her lips clamped together. Not a sound came out, even when he left off shaking her and smacked her hard across the face with his right hand.
That old familiar rage came boiling up. How dare he hurt her? The knife was still lying by the rock. I grabbed it. "Let her go!" I cried, raising it like a dagger.
"Stay out of this, Ed," she said through her teeth, not turning around, but Zeb could see the knife. More in surprise than anything else, he loosed his grip. Vile shook herself and backed up slowly, putting the flat stone between herself and her father.
He glanced down at the stone. My failed attempt to write a ransom note still lay there. He squinted at it. I prayed he couldn't read. But he obviously could make out the first word.
"What's this now?" He snatched up the paper. "Help?" He glared at us both. "Jest who needs help around here?" His tone was threatening, but I knew he was keeping the knife in view. He didn't move toward either of us.
"Jest a game, Paw. No harm meant."
"I don't fancy your games, girl," he said, jamming the "Help! Kidnapped!" note into his pocket. He shot another glance at the knife.
Vile turned toward me to see what he was looking at. "Put down the knife, Ed," she said. "He ain't gonna hurt you."
"Jest tell me where m' bottle got to. That's all I'm after." But even as he spoke, he saw the broken glass under the spruce tree and the dark stain on its trunk.
"Why, you leetle—" He made as if to lunge for her, but I was quicker this time, jumping toward him, the rusty blade high. He stopped with a jerk.
The knife shook in my hand. He'd soon see I was bluffing. "Run, Vile," I said. She hesitated. "Run!" I yelled it this time. "I'll catch up." I started to run, snapping the knife into its handle as I did. Zeb came after me. I turned and hurled the folded knife at him. I heard him yelp, so I must have hit the target, but I wasn't waiting around to see. I was chasing through the brush down the hill as fast as I could tear. I soon caught up with Vile, grabbed her hand, and pulled her along, the branches scraping our faces and bodies as we stumbled on.
"You didn't hurt him?" she managed to pant out.
"No. Promise. Just keep going. He's after us." I could hear his clumsy thrashing on the hillside above us. "C'mon. Faster." Still holding her hand, I headed diagonally north down the hill. I was banking on Zeb to follow the path straight down toward the center of town.
At last we were at the creek. I realized suddenly that I was still holding her hand. I dropped it quickly. Vile pretended not to notice, just stood there holding her side and panting for a minute. "We'd better keep going," I said, wading straight in. I guess I was figuring my feet and britches would welcome a rinse after their chicken-head soup shower. Vile nodded and followed after, surprising me by lifting her tattered hem up about ten inches, holding her skirts as dainty as if she was a member of the Ladies' Aid Society. She'd got her voice back after the race down the hill. "Where we headed?" she asked.
"To the stone sheds. We can rest there a bit—decide what to do next." I didn't want to use the word hide. I was afraid she might balk at the idea. Still, she looked worried. "They let off work at three. Nobody will be around."
"How we going to get in?"
"They don't lock up. Who's going to steal granite? You need a crane to move it at all, and a train or at least a team of horses to carry it away."
After I'd made sure there was nothing coming from either direction, we crossed the Tyler road, then the railroad tracks. Each of us pulled a few berries as we went past the raspberry patch, but we did it on the move. I figured we'd do what I'd done earlier, hike up to the woods and go south toward the stone sheds under the cover of the trees. Once we were near the backs of the sheds, we could drop down the hill and sneak into one of them.
"Ed," she said, "we shouldn'ta left him."
"What?" I couldn't believe my ears.
"He ain't got no more sense than a toadstool when he goes off his head like this."