The Journey Back Read online

  Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I decided I wouldn’t say anything. After all, I was using a phony name, too. Woody wasn’t coming after me, so I wouldn’t go after him. Not unless I had to. But it bothered me, this little secret. It was one thing for Woody to make up stuff about himself, but he had a little kid to take care of. Something was up, and I knew none of it could be good for Luke.

  —

  On Saturday morning of that week, Woody fried up some sausages and made us blueberry pancakes. A real treat. Then he and Luke left for the nearby city of Frederick to buy Luke some new sneakers and catch a movie. I washed the dishes and went to the horse farm to see about getting work. I rode over to the farm with Nora and her mom and guessed that the farm was about a mile from the campground. If I got hired, I thought, I could walk over, but I’d have to find a way to get there without being seen from the road.

  “Heavenly Days?” I asked from the backseat, reading the mailbox sign.

  “It’s a horse rescue facility,” Nora said. She looked at her mother, sitting beside her up front. “Can you explain it, Mom?”

  “Yeah, sure. All the horses at this farm are here because the authorities—the courts in Maryland—took them away from abusive owners. Mrs. Crawford, who runs the place, rehabilitates them and then tries to find homes for them.”

  “Like foster care for horses,” I said.

  “Exactly!” Nora smiled at me, and I was thinking she looked especially cute the way she had braided her hair.

  Nora’s mother looked at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re not afraid of horses then?”

  “No way,” I told her. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  —

  I got introduced right off to the farm owner. Mrs. Crawford was a short woman in blue jeans, boots, and an oversize flannel shirt. She pulled her thick gray hair back into a ponytail and had a face with a lot of wrinkles, but I had absolutely no idea how old she was. Could’ve been forty, fifty—even sixty.

  “Nora says I can trust you,” Mrs. Crawford said. “You a hard worker?”

  “Sure thing,” I answered.

  “You’re hired then. I’ll pay you cash on Friday,” she said. And the best part? She didn’t make me fill out any forms or show an ID.

  “Can you show him around?” Mrs. Crawford asked Nora. “Then teach him how to punch in on the time clock and get started on those stalls?”

  Nora gave me a little tour, and I could tell right off this farm was a place she loved. She pointed out two herds of horses in two separate fields. “Geldings are in one pasture, the mares are in the other,” she said. “A really beautiful stallion is in the barn along with horses that need the most care.” That meant the horses who came in starving or sick, and had their ribs showing and chunks of hair falling out.

  Horses weren’t the only animals at the farm. Nora curled her slender arms around the necks of two miniature donkeys named Winston and Earl to give them hugs (I couldn’t help but be a little jealous) and introduced me to three goats who tried to nibble at my hands.

  Most of the farm buildings were run-down, but the volunteers at the farm had a nice, air-conditioned room with a couch to sit on, and—I couldn’t help but notice—all kinds of snacks on the table. All these places, I thought, I’d check ’em out good later on ’cause I was still on the hunt for something I could use for a weapon, if only to protect myself from my father when I got home.

  A couple Mexican guys, Hector and Miguel, also worked at the farm. “They’re illegals,” Nora whispered as we watched them carry buckets of feed. She said they didn’t speak much English, but it wasn’t like I wanted to strike up a conversation with them anyway. Even though I had Spanish in middle school no way could I understand ’cause they spoke too fast. Nora introduced us—en español—but when those guys rattled off something in Spanish and laughed, I figured it was an insult. Was it my poison ivy? I narrowed my eyes and balled up my fists.

  “Gerry! Hector! Miguel!” Mrs. Crawford called out. “I need you boys to unload this hay and stack it in the loft above the stalls.”

  I hopped up onto the back of the truck and started grabbing hay bales, but right away I saw that the hay was damp, like it hadn’t dried out before getting cut. My grandfather never would have stacked it. He’d dry it out first. “It’s wet!” I called out to Mrs. Crawford. “You sure you want to stack it?”

  Miguel and Hector laughed and looked at me funny. What? Did they think I was just saying that ’cause I was lazy?

  Mrs. Crawford returned to the truck. “I know. But I can’t afford to wait,” she said. “Let’s just get it all in the barn. Maybe I can move it around later.”

  When we finished with the hay, Nora showed me the wild stallion in the barn. He was a pretty horse, kind of reddish brown with a long, gold-colored, but snarled, mane, and hair that fell over his eyes. When he spotted us looking at him, he laid his ears flat, turned around, and kicked the wall where we were standing.

  We jumped back. “Best to stay away from him,” Nora warned. I liked it when she put her hand on my arm. “There’s a lot of hostility bottled up in him. He already bit Miguel once.”

  “What’s he so mad about?” I asked.

  “His previous owner kept him nailed into his stall. He never went outside, wasn’t fed regular, and his stall never got cleaned out. When he was rescued, he was walking on three feet of his own manure packed down. His head almost brushed the ceiling! Honestly, we thought he’d never put his head up again. Guess you can’t blame him for hating people. Miguel started calling him Fuego (she pronounced it f-way-go) and the name stuck. It means fire in Spanish.”

  After Nora showed me how to punch in on an old-fashioned time clock, I got down to business mucking out those stalls. This meant shoveling manure into a wheelbarrow, which I pushed behind the barn and dumped into a big pile. After a stall got cleaned out, I shook straw over the floor. In no time, sweat was dripping down my face and my back. All afternoon, while I worked, I heard Fuego snort and kick the wall whenever anyone passed by. He sure was ticked off at the world, I thought.

  I had a lot of time to think while shoveling that manure. I thought about all the food I could buy (if I had to) with the money I was earning. I thought about Nora—how could I not? I thought about how Hector and Miguel had already gotten under my skin. I even thought about some of the things Woody had said. Like how I was either running from something, or to something. And the dog that had the kite tied to his tail. I thought about Fuego, too, this horse named for fire, who had been nailed into his stall and sometimes not fed for days. It’s no wonder he didn’t trust nobody and kept kicking at the wall.

  In some ways, I finally realized, even if he was an animal, that horse was a lot like me.

  —

  The following week, while Luke was in school, I worked at the farm every day mucking stalls. Mucking—that sure was the perfect word. It was boring, back-breaking labor. Buddy and I made our way to and from the farm by walking behind a little shopping center, then paralleling the road about a hundred feet away, just inside the tree line. At one road intersection where there was a good bit of traffic, I crouched and made my way through a water culvert under the road.

  When I got to the farm, I filled a bucket with water for Buddy and told him to lie down in a shady corner to wait for me. “No barking,” I said, and darned if that dog didn’t just lay there quiet for hours waiting for me. Well, except for the first day when he took off after the goats. And then that one time he saw the gray barn cat.

  Every day, I checked out a corner of the farm by opening grain bins, pulling out drawers, and poking around in barrels and boxes. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was looking for, but something would spark an idea, I was sure of it. Always, I tried to stay out of sight. One afternoon, when some state inspector guy came to check the barn, I scooted into a field and pretended to be scrubbing the w
ater troughs.

  I worried a little that Miguel and Hector might be watching me. Neither ever spoke to me but they hid behind their Spanish and seemed amused whenever I got close. I was tempted to straighten them both out with my fist, but I didn’t want to lose the job. Ha! Mr. R. would’ve been proud of me for using the ole if/then thinking. If I punched them out, then I’d probably get fired. So, for the most part, I ignored those guys, except for the day I caught Miguel smoking.

  What happened is I was taking a bucket of manure out back to the pile. If I’d had the wheelbarrow Miguel would’ve heard me coming. I just had that bucket though and I caught him red-handed, lighting up a cigarette behind the barn. There was no smoking allowed at the farm and everyone knew it ’cause Mrs. Crawford had about a million signs up. She was paying us so I figured we ought to respect that. When Miguel saw me he took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped his hand to his side quick, trying to hide it.

  I threw manure on the pile and stood there, holding the bucket and staring at him. “Mrs. Crawford said no smoking,” I told him, pointing to his hand. “No fumar,” I added, surprising the hell out of him that I knew any Spanish at all.

  He tossed the cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with his shoe. Then he flashed his dark eyes at me. He looked a lot like Tio then. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled at him.

  —

  On Friday of that week I got paid—get this—$130.50 for eighteen hours of work. I got it in two fifties, one twenty, one ten, and two quarters. It was more cash than I ever held in my hands at one time. Mrs. Crawford had told me it was cash “under the table,” which meant she wasn’t taking any taxes out of it. I told her “thanks,” but she seemed embarrassed and asked me not to talk about it. She didn’t tell me it was illegal. I found that out from Nora.

  “My mom is paid under the table, too,” she said. “Then she goes into town and collects unemployment.”

  “That’s good!” I said.

  But Nora shook her head. “No, it’s not. She’s scamming the government. I mean I’m glad she gets money so we can eat. But it’s wrong.”

  “Why?”

  Nora dropped open her mouth like, duh, you stupid bonehead. “Because if like no one paid taxes there wouldn’t be money for libraries, hospitals, schools, ambulances, police—”

  “Fine with me if no police!” I stopped her.

  She waved me off. “Just because you’re in trouble right now you think that. But if we didn’t have police and courts and stuff, this world would be chaos!”

  I didn’t debate her anymore after that. I decided Nora thought too much about things, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad. But she did make me wonder about all the deception. Mrs. Crawford did a great thing saving horses, but here she was cheating the government. And wasn’t I deceiving everybody with my fake name? And Woody with his? And Hector and Miguel ’cause they snuck into this country? Not to mention my deadbeat father who sobered up and apologized and got out of trouble nearly every time my mother called for help . . . My heart skipped a beat ’cause who did she call when my father got out of control? The police.

  I frowned. Maybe, I thought, all this deception was how the world operated. I wasn’t sure. But that pile of money in my hand was real and I figured that’s what counted. It was hard-earned and it would help me get home. I felt squirmy coming to this conclusion, but I was glad the government wasn’t getting a chunk of it.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  * * *

  BAD CHOICES

  “Digger!” Nora called my name as she sprinted down the main road into camp, her long hair flying out behind her.

  What? Was she eager to see me? I was just returning from work at the farm, that’s all. But maybe we had something going, her and me. I felt the corners of my mouth start to lift.

  “Digger, they’re looking for you!” Nora exclaimed as she practically plowed into me. I caught one of her arms while she put the other on her chest and tried to catch her breath. “They’re asking if anyone has seen this teenager—this teenager, Michael Griswald—who goes by the nickname Digger!”

  “Whoa.”

  “You need to hide!”

  “Where?”

  “This way!” she said, pulling me into the woods.

  We took off together, jumping over logs, dodging branches, and pushing aside the prickly underbrush. When we got to the towpath, we paused to look both ways quickly—we were breathing hard—then darted across the path and followed a narrow, winding trail to the river. Buddy was close behind us the whole way.

  Nora stopped me. “See those rocks?” she asked, pointing out over the water.

  “Yeah, sure.” A whole series of big, white boulders dotted the river at this point. Dark water churned around and between them as it rushed downstream.

  “They’ll take you clear across the river. Most of the rocks are pretty flat so you can practically walk all the way across. Hide on the other side and when the coast is clear I’ll go get you.”

  “What about Luke?” I asked.

  “I’ll get him at the bus and tell him not to say anything. Go on! Go now!”

  “Come on, Buddy!” I said, slapping my leg so he’d follow. Turning, I stepped on a rock close to shore, then the next one, and the next, picking my way across the river in just a few minutes. I only needed to jump once, but I made sure to land on my good ankle.

  When I got to the other side, I hid behind some bushes. Buddy sniffed around for a while, then settled down and curled up for a nap. Meanwhile, I waited for what seemed like forever. I counted last week’s pay, which I’d kept in my pocket, about ten times, ate two granola bars I took from the volunteers’ room, and listened to two different trains go by on the opposite side of the river. But mostly, I just sat there, peeking through the bushes, cleaning my fingernails with my jackknife, and watching for Nora. I worried about what would happen, but it felt nice that Nora wanted to protect me.

  Just before it started to get dark, I spotted her. She looked like a ballet dancer the way she held her arms out and hopped, real delicate like, from one rock to the next. I went to meet her and reached out to help her onto shore. She took my hand and it was kind of nice that she didn’t let go right away.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Police are still there,” she said, reaching down to pet Buddy, who was pretty excited to see her, too. “But they parked on down the road. Maybe they’re waiting for you to show up. I’m sure some people at the campground figured it was you, but I don’t think anyone’s said anything.”

  “Is Luke okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s doing his homework. Woody should be home soon, but I’m sure he won’t say anything. He needs you here for Luke.”

  I almost laughed. “Yeah.”

  Nora and I sat on the ground behind the bushes. I let out a long sigh. “Looks like I get to sleep in the woods again.”

  “You don’t have to,” Nora said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can go back to the horse farm and sleep in the volunteers’ room.”

  “Really?” I was surprised. “You think it would be okay?”

  “I don’t think so. I know so.” She paused a second. “My mom and I lived in that room for six months.”

  “Six months? Are you kidding?”

  “I wish I was kidding,” she said. “We had to stay there. Mom didn’t have any money. I mean, we have the tent now, but we didn’t have it then. Even if we did, we wouldn’t have had the money to pay the campground fee. Mrs. Crawford was incredible. She didn’t care if we slept there, just so long as we picked up before the volunteers arrived. Mom slept on the couch, I slept on the floor. We kept our stuff in the car.”

  I looked at her, kind of dumbfounded. It was hard for me to believe she actually lived in the volunteers’ room for h
alf a year. I mean, I could see myself doing that, but not her. She didn’t look like a homeless person.

  “Wow,” is all I said.

  “Yeah. Wow is right. My mom sometimes makes bad choices when it comes to boyfriends. I mean I know she’s lonely, but still. This boyfriend she has now? He’s married!”

  “He is?”

  Nora nodded. “He’s stupid, too.” She picked up a stick next to her and broke it into two pieces. “He actually makes fun of me when I try to do my homework. Which is why I’m always hanging out with you and Luke.”

  My heart dropped a little. “Hey, I thought you come over to be with me!”

  “I do! Oh, I mean I like being with you guys, too.”

  I waited for her to say more. Waited while she used the sharp end of one of the sticks to draw a circle in the sand. It was a warm night and Nora wore a sleeveless top. In the soft light of dusk I watched the rose tattoo on her shoulder move with the motion of her arm.

  “I’ll tell you this,” she said. “I am not living the way my mother lives. I want to get a scholarship and go to college. If I can’t afford medical school, then maybe I’ll be a teacher, or a physical therapist. For sure, I’m going to make enough money to live in my own place.”

  We sat quiet for another minute—sometimes I just did not know what to say—while she made loops around the circle in the sand, turning it into a daisy. I felt anxious ’cause I really liked Nora. I even wondered if she could be like a girlfriend. I’d never had a girlfriend before. What girl would want a boyfriend who lived in a junky house without a toilet and who sometimes wore the same shirt to school for a week ’cause his mother didn’t have change for the Laundromat?

  “What about you?” she asked. “How come you’re running away from that juvenile prison place?”

  Did I want to tell her more than she already knew? I hesitated and watched her draw a stem and leaves on the dirt flower.