Wondering how far he had to go, he turned left and started walking – and stopped as he rounded the bend. The hulking silhouette of the old Steelyard place loomed before him. Chance had dumped him out upon the road almost in front of the Haunted House! For an instant he was actually glad to see it; he knew now that he wasn’t far from camp. But then, as he stared up at the tower window, at the peaked gable, the bent lightning rods and the gimcrack bits of gingerbread, the house seemed to transform itself, to become that other house, on Gallop Street, the way it had been before… before… when he was the butcher’s boy; and Emily, she was the butcher’s wife; and he, Rudy Matuchek, was the butcher, damn him to hell, and…
“No rhapsodies in this house!”
Out of the inky darkness filling his head, that same bright, slippery fish of thought swam by, recalling -what? Still, it wouldn’t come to him, but eluded him as always. What was it he was trying so desperately to remember?
“No rhapsodies in this house!” Again the angry voice sounded in his ears. “How many times I got to tell you, no rhapsodies in this house! Damn that kid. Where is he anyway? He’s never here when I want him! I get the strap now!”
“No! Don’t you touch him! Not again!”
“You shut your face! He’s no good, that boy! He needs discipline. I give him!”
“You so much as touch him, you’ll be sorry!”
“What you say?”
“You heard me. Don’t you lay a finger on him!”
“You shut up!”
The sound of his hand striking Emily’s face made Leo jerk back. Her sobs filled his ears. He let out an audible groan of pain. No! Don’t let it happen! No – please. Don’t hurt her! Overcome with fright, he tried to master the involuntary spasm that now gripped him. Then, the great storm broke from a great height, smashing down on him just as it had that night; an ominous thunderclap, a deep, tumultuous peal, and suddenly he is – yes – up there, in the window, watching for her – mother – mother – MOTHER – where are you?
He can hear the heavy downpour beating against the windowpane, drumming on the roof slates. The river is rising, rising fast to flood the dikes that laborers have spent two years throwing up, sweeping them away in a torrent, and the same tide is now loosening the footings of the L Street Bridge, and Emily – Emily is coming on the trolley car – the L Street car – Mother! – and Rudy is shouting and then the world begins to spin, a maelstrom sweeping everything away from him – Mother! – he hears her cry -“Leo, oh Leo… ” that dread sound of agony, her white hand fluttering, and – oh, Mother!
Suddenly he was running toward the house, up the crazy paving, up the steps, onto the porch to the open doorway gaping before him and He stopped; he could go no farther. Whatever it was, he could do nothing about it. It was too late. She was gone. He was alone…
Terrible sobs were wrenched from him, his eyes blurred with tears, tremors ran through him like electric shocks -for a while he stood there on the threshold, trapped like a bug in a spider’s newly spun web; felt himself cocooned in silken gauze that spun around his body, tighter and tighter, until he was made a small neat package of. Then, suddenly, a cold wind drifted across his back, chilling his neck, and the spell was broken. He turned away from the house and broke into a trot, down the walk to the road, pelting hard along its shoulder, never stopping for breath until he reached the rack of mailboxes at the top of the line-path, and beyond that, camp.
He forced his disturbing thoughts from his mind, determined to have the last laugh on his erstwhile snipe-hunting partners. As he came down the line-path he heard from the lodge sounds of merriment and lusty singing – no doubt the old boys enjoying their watermelon and making fun of all the dumb suckers still wandering around in Indian Woods. Shunning the lights, he made his way toward Jeremiah. He had an idea he wanted to execute. The cabin was dark and deserted when he reached it. He borrowed the Bomber’s extra flashlight, then hurried away to the toolshed behind the cottage where Fritz Auerbach stayed, and located a trowel and two small clay pots. From there he proceeded into the woods behind the cottage and dug up two pine seedlings, which he quickly transplanted into the pots; then, having returned the trowel to the shed, he hurried back to the cabin. He set one of the pots in the center of Phil’s bunk, the other on Wally’s, then stretched out on his own bunk to wait…
He must have dozed off; he was suddenly aware of subdued laughter, and he glimpsed figures coming down the line-path.
“… I bet he’ll never find his way out of there.” He recognized Phil’s voice, and there was a nasal chortle that sounded like Dump. “We’ll probably have to go out and wet-nurse him home,” Phil went on sourly, and in they came, five of the Lucky Seven – Tiger and the Bomber had yet to show. In the dim light no one noticed Leo at first, and he lay still, watching through slitted eyes as Phil, slurping the remains of a slice of watermelon, went to his bunk.
“What’s this junk doing here?” he demanded, turning with the potted tree that had been set out on his pillow.
“Evening, all,” Leo said, sitting up and grinning. “It’s a present. Wally has one too. Like them?”
Phil ordered the lantern lighted, then strode over to Leo and stared down at him.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing? You got dirt all over my pillow.”
“Sorry for that,” Leo replied, with no spark of humility. “How’d you get back so quick?”
“Yeah, how?” echoed Wally.
“It didn’t take long, did it?” Leo was relishing the baffled looks on their faces.
“You cheated,” Phil said. “You followed us out.”
“I never. You thought you’d gotten me good and lost, but you didn’t. I knew where I was all the time.”
“The heck you say!”
“And before I forget, thanks a lot for the loan of your flashlight. It was really kind of you guys. It didn’t work, though, so I threw it away.” He dipped into his pocket and produced the compass. “The reason I didn’t get lost was because I had this.”
Phil’s brows shot up. “That’s Abernathy’s. Where’d you get it?” As he reached for it, Leo put it behind his back.
“Tiger gave it to me.”
“Liar! He never! Hand it over.”
Leo defied him. “No, why should I?”
As he stuck the compass back in his pocket, Phil threw himself on him and shoved him back to the bunk rail. “Ow!” Leo cried, nursing an elbow. “That hurt!” “What’s going on?” Tiger was standing in the doorway with the Bomber.
' “He’s got your compass, Tige,” Phil said. “He stole it from your box.”
“No, he didn’t. I gave it to him.”
Phil was stunned. “You got to be kidding! You won that compass – it’s a prize.”
“That’s okay. I gave it to him.”
“Well, if that’s not – well, damn it anyway!”
“So how’d it go?” Tiger asked, turning to Leo.
“It-” Leo swept the circle of faces with bright eyes. “It was grand,” he said with profound satisfaction.
Phil glowered and turned away; he grabbed up his seedling and chucked it with the pot through the door; its fellow followed in short order.
“What was that all about?” Tiger asked.
Leo chuckled. “Those are the snipe I was supposed to bag.”
Tiger and the Bomber looked puzzled.
“He’s just being a weisenheimer,” Phil said. “They’re little pine trees!”
“I don’t get it,” Tiger said.
“It’s an anagram,” Leo explained. “Pines. P-i-n-e-s. S-n-i-p-e.”
Tiger darted a look of covert amusement to the Bomber. It wasn’t easy getting a leg up on Phil Dodge.
’Samatter, can’tcha take a joke?” the Bomber said, laughing. His bunk squeaked as he heaved himself up and hauled out his pajamas.