The Mystery of the Indian Carvings Page 5

She thought about it, fingering the delicate curled tip of a fern. The verse must mean that He knew how she felt and all about her problems in this place.

  Right now, her biggest problem was Karin. She’d tried to ignore her, but that hadn’t worked. Somehow, she had to make peace with her cousin. Why did Karin dislike her so much, anyway?

  Why not just ask?

  She slipped the bookmark back into her pocket and stood up, considering the idea. She’d seen Karin go down toward the dock, so maybe she was still there.

  When Julie found her, Karin was just picking up her towel and suntan lotion from the end of the dock. Feeling less courageous now, Julie walked all the way down its length.

  “Karin?” Her voice sounded shrill in her ears. With an effort, she lowered it. “Karin, I want to ask you something.”

  She sat on the edge of the dock and looked out at the water so she wouldn’t see Karin’s face.

  “Well?” Karin flopped back down onto the dock.

  “I’ve got to know something. Why . . . why do you hate me so much?”

  Karin stretched out her slim, tanned legs as if to admire them. “Why do I hate you?”

  She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Let’s see. Because you’re a dumb city girl, because you’re some relative I’ve never seen and all of a sudden I’ve got to put up with you, and because my mother says—” Karin mimicked Aunt Myra’s high voice. “Oh, my! Julie looks like such a sweet girl in this photo. I’m sure she’ll be a good influence on our Karin.”

  Julie took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. Something inside her tightened as if it were clenched into a fist. “You’ve certainly caused enough trouble for me. Your mother will never say that again.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Cousin Julie?” Karin sounded coolly amused.

  “You know very well what I’m talking about!” Julie cried. “You put that mask in my drawer so I’d get in trouble, and now your mother’s having a fit, and I hope you’re happy.”

  She jumped up. “No wonder your father never talks to you! I can’t stand you either, and I can’t wait to get away from this place.”

  As soon as the words were out she wanted to snatch them back, but she couldn’t, so she turned and ran down the dock as fast as she could.

  When she reached the kitchen doorstep, she jerked to a stop, trying to catch her breath before going inside. If she was very quiet, she wouldn’t have to face Aunt Myra.

  But her aunt must have heard her. “Julie,” she called. “I need some help with supper.”

  Suppressing a sigh, she went into the kitchen. She tried not to look at her aunt’s pale, strained face and silently followed her instructions for making a salad.

  During supper, she tried to keep her mind on the peacefulness of her room and how nice it would be to get there. She would read all night, read until she could fall asleep and forget Aunt Myra’s shadowed eyes and Karin’s sulky glare.

  When the dishes were done, she went into the library to get a new supply of books and paused to admire the photos of sea otters on the wall.

  She especially liked the one of a mother otter holding a pup in her arms. Instead of being chocolate brown like his mother, the pup had shaggy, yellowish fur. He looked so comical, with his bristling whiskers and sparkling black eyes, she almost laughed in spite of herself.

  Thinking about sea otters reminded her of Dad, and as soon as she reached her room, she decided to write to him. The letter went fine to begin with, but when she’d finished describing the beautiful island, her pen wavered helplessly over the paper.

  She didn’t want to admit that she’d been in trouble. She couldn’t even tell him that she’d found Paul Edenshaw, the man who carved her sea otter.

  She nibbled at the tip of her pen for a while longer and finally thought of describing Robert Greystone. As she finished the letter and sealed it, she wondered whether Robert knew anything about Paul Edenshaw. If she saw him again, she’d ask.

  After she’d put on her pajamas, she remembered her Bible, still in the bottom drawer. Slowly she took it out.

  She’d sure made a mess of trying to patch things up with Karin. Where did Aunt Myra ever get the idea that she’d be a good influence? That explained why her aunt seemed so disappointed in her, but it just wasn’t fair. No one could get along with a girl like Karin!

  She turned the pages of her Bible until she found the book of Mark. Right away it started talking about Christ and how He’d told some men to follow Him, and they did.

  After she read the first chapter, she paused to think about those men—they’d seen some amazing things. She sighed. She was trying to follow Him too, but she hadn’t done a very good job so far.

  She turned off the lamp and went to her favorite place beside the open window. The cedar trees were already darkening into gloom. Above them, the moon looked like a slice of silver wreathed in clouds.

  Her mind leaped back to Karin. Talking to her had been a great idea, but it hadn’t worked. They both said horrible things, and now they hated each other more than ever.

  She stood up and finished getting ready for bed. She’d just have to try harder—that was all she could do.

  Much later that night, long after she’d sleepily put down her book, something startled her awake. Outside? Even the crickets were hushed.

  She sat up in bed and strained to listen, the silence tingling in her ears. Finally she heard it. A soft crunching sound. Footsteps?

  She crept to her window and peered into the darkness. Once she thought she saw a flicker of light, but that was all. When she finally returned to bed, she could hear Siem, whining softly. If there was something wrong, he would bark, wouldn’t he?

  She yawned and told herself she was getting as fussy as her aunt, but it seemed like a long time before she fell asleep.

  The next morning, she awakened at daylight and headed for the window. What had happened last night? Was it just a dream?

  Her fingers tightened on the sill. What was the matter with Siem? The dog lay sprawled by his house, legs stiffly outstretched, head flung back. But he always slept with his head on his paws.

  She rushed into the hall, almost running into Karin, who was coming out of the bathroom.

  “It’s Siem,” she cried in a choked voice. “I think he’s . . .” She ran down the stairs and out the door.

  She dropped to her knees beside the silent black body and stroked one silky ear. An eyelid twitched. Quickly she felt for the pulse in his neck, and under her trembling fingers she found a slow throb. But he was barely breathing.

  She looked up to find Karin crouched on the other side of the dog, and they exchanged worried glances. What could have happened to him?

  On the ground behind Karin lay a chunk of something dark. “Look at that,” Julie exclaimed. “Meat? Is it his regular food?”

  Karin turned to stare at the meat. “No, it’s not. I wonder if someone tried to poison him.”

  Carved Rocks

  Julie stared at her cousin in horror. It must have happened last night. But why?

  The big dog stirred under her hand. “He’s moving,” she cried.

  “Get some water and a cloth,” Karin said.

  Julie snatched up Siem’s dish and ran to the kitchen to fill it, grabbed a towel, and returned.

  Aunt Myra trailed after her in a bathrobe, murmuring questions.

  The dog’s golden eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his head a fraction of an inch.”

  “Oh, good!” Julie exclaimed. “Take a drink, boy!”

  He licked at the water Karin was dripping into his mouth, and after a minute, he struggled to sit up.

  “What is it? What happened?” Aunt Myra asked. “Why won’t anyone tell me what happened?”

  “We don’t know,” Karin snapped. “Someone might have poisoned him.”

  She turned to Julie, frowning. “What about some milk? Isn’t that what they give to children who swallow stuff—”

  “Right.” Julie dashed off to the
kitchen again.

  Siem seemed stronger when he’d finished the milk, and he managed to take a few faltering steps.

  “Look at his hind leg,” Julie whispered. “It’s dragging.”

  “Yeah, looks like it’s paralyzed,” Karin said. “Maybe rubbing it will help. We’ll keep him moving around as much as possible.”

  “I’ll take him for a walk after breakfast,” Julie said.

  Karin nodded. “When we get back from that bike trip this afternoon, I’ll walk him again. He’ll need to rest in between, anyway.” She inspected the chunk of meat and picked it up, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Mother,” she said, “I’m going to wrap this up and keep it in the fridge until Dad gets back. I’m sure he’ll want to see it.”

  “But do you really think he was poisoned?” Aunt Myra asked. “Who would do a thing like that?”

  “Indians might.” Karin’s mouth tightened. “You never know about them.”

  “Oh!” Aunt Myra wailed. “I wish we didn’t live so close to that village. What are we going to do?”

  Karin looked at her mother impatiently. “There’s nothing we can do. C’mon, let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

  After breakfast, Julie snapped a leash onto Siem’s collar and walked him on the shadiest trail she could find. It lay behind the house and led them away from the sea, a direction she’d never taken before.

  Karin had blamed the Indians, and she wondered briefly about that. Perhaps she shouldn’t be out walking alone in the woods. But she wouldn’t go far, and Siem did need the shade.

  She studied him as he limped along the trail. Why would someone do that to a dog?

  Those footsteps she’d heard last night—Indians were supposed to be quiet, weren’t they? Maybe it was someone else. Maybe it was the same person who had stolen the raven club.

  By now, Siem’s long pink tongue was hanging out of his mouth. “That’s enough, boy,” she said and sat him down on the trail. She massaged his lame leg, hoping it would help.

  A prickly feeling inched down the back of her neck. Was someone watching her?

  She turned and glimpsed a face through the bushes. “Robert Greystone,” she said, “why are you spying on me?”

  He stepped onto the trail beside her. “Is the dog injured?”

  “We think he’s been poisoned.” She told him what had happened, leaving out Karin’s reference to the Indians.

  The boy’s face grew stern as he stroked Siem’s leg. “A cruel thing to do.”

  “What does Siem’s name mean?” she asked. “It’s Indian, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Dr. Fletcher told me it means respected person.”

  “I like that.” she said. “He’s been a special person to me, not just a dog! More like a friend.”

  Robert gazed at her as if he was trying to figure her out, and she chattered on to cover her embarrassment. “Uncle Nate told me about your studying,” she said. “You must really want to go to college.”

  He stood up, his face aloof. “Yes,” he said. “I hope Siem gets better.” He disappeared into the trees without making a sound.

  She stared after him for a minute, dusted off her jeans, and stood up. Time to get Siem back home.

  That afternoon, Stan drove up with his father’s truck and the bike he’d promised for Julie.

  It was dented and scratched, and smaller than the one she’d left at home, but she was so glad to be biking again that she didn’t care.

  The road they took was a challenging combination of pavement, potholes, and loose gravel that forced her to concentrate on controlling her bike, but gradually she got used to it. The road looped around the other side of the island, and soon she began to enjoy the warmth of the sun on her back and the deep quiet of endless trees.

  As they rode, Stan asked Karin about her father’s job, and she listened with interest.

  “He’s doing research on some kind of secret medicine, I think,” Karin said. “How come you want to know? You’ve never asked before.”

  “You know that writer?” Stan said. “She asked me to help her get information for her article. She’s still interested in your uncle, even though he won’t talk to her.”

  Karin snorted. “She won’t find out anything by spying around, either. My father is crazy-careful about keeping his stuff hidden. I think he uses some weird codes, too, and keeps them in a special code book.”

  “Does he have a safe?”

  “Yeah,” Karin said. “Probably somewhere in his study. He’d make sure it was out of sight, that’s for sure. I guess it’s pretty important—to him, anyway. Sometimes it’s like the rest of us don’t even exist. Like on Monday, he got some kind of top-secret letter and took off for Vancouver again.”

  Once more Julie noticed the edge of bitterness in Karin’s voice. She felt a stab of unexpected pity for her cousin. At least Dad always found time to talk to her, even lately when she’d been so rude to him and Barbara.

  Stan pointed to a wooded hill that rose from the trees on their left. “There’s Bartlett Hill,” he said with pride. “Has the best huckleberries on the whole island, and it’s a good hike, too.”

  “Huckleberries?” Julie asked.

  Karin flicked an exasperated glance at her, but Stan grinned. “Sure,” he said. “Sort of like red blueberries, but they taste lots better. They get ripe in August—my favorites.”

  He waved toward the edge of the road, where bushes with small pink flowers grew. “Of course, the salmonberries are good too. And the thimbleberries. Hey, Karin, what would you say the thimbleberries taste like?”

  Karin thought about it, her face dreamy. Finally she said, “Thimbleberries taste like soft, velvety rich raspberries, and there’s never enough of them.”

  Stan laughed. “Exactly.” He grinned at Julie again. “Hope you’re planning to stay all summer. You’ve got to taste the berries.”

  She tried to smile. She turned her head to watch a chipmunk scamper across the road and ignored a tug of longing. In two weeks she’d be gone, and she’d never get to taste those berries.

  “Here’s the fork.” Stan turned right at a Y-shaped intersection in the road. “I’ll beat you to the rocks.” He sped off, pedaling hard.

  Julie managed to keep up with Karin all the way to the rocky point where the road ended. Stan was off his bike, waiting for them in the boulders that lay jumbled at the edge of the sea.

  “How do you like our carved rocks?” he asked. “They’re sandstone, and the waves have sort of sculptured them.”

  “They look like giant mushrooms,” Julie said. “Wonderful!”

  “Yeah, but wait till you see the ones down by the cormorant nests.”

  She parked her bike and followed as Karin and Stan picked their way among the rocks until they came to a smoother section of beach. For a minute they stood silently, gazing out at the glinting blue expanse and the foam-tipped waves that raced toward them.

  She looked for more islands, but there were only a few misty shapes on the horizon. The salt wind swept her face, tossing back her hair, and she sighed in satisfaction.

  Stan strolled down the beach and Julie walked beside him, her eyes still on the crested waves. “Is it always so beautiful on this island?” she asked. “Doesn’t it ever rain?”

  He grinned. “Sure it does. Sometimes we get huge storms, even in summer. Lots of fog, too.”

  “I like fog. It’s pretty.”

  “You haven’t seen the kind we get around here. So thick you can’t see a foot in front of you. Hey, I meant to ask, how’d you like our little church?”

  “I’m glad I went,” Julie said. “I like your pastor.”

  Stan nodded. “He says things so you can understand what the Bible’s talking about.”

  “I noticed that,” Julie said. Karin had caught up to them, but she went on. “I’m just beginning to learn about Christ, and what your pastor said really helped me.”

  “Great!” Stan’s voice was warm. “I’
m a Christian too. I asked Christ into my life when I was just a kid, but I’ve still got a bunch more to learn.”

  “Oh, come on, you two,” Karin said. “Let’s stop with the preaching. I get enough of it on Sunday.”

  She tilted her blond head and gave Stan a dazzling smile. “Let’s go see if the cormorants are nesting yet. Race you!” And she ran down the beach with Stan at her side.

  Julie followed them at a steady jog. She wasn’t going to let Karin spoil this day.

  The cormorant nesting place was amazing, just as Stan had said. She stared at the high cliff, admiring its complicated lacework of ledges, holes, and crevices. Already, the birds were arranging untidy nests of seaweed and grass among the hollows.

  “They’re beautiful!” she said, watching how the sunlight glinted green and purple on their glossy black plumage. Their hooked beaks looked fierce, and she was careful to stand well back from them, the way Karin and Stan did.

  “There’s an even better place,” Stan said. “See that island way out there?” He pointed to a small hump on the horizon. “It’s just swarming with cormorants and gulls in nesting season, but you have to get there by boat. Maybe we can go there later in the summer.”

  As Julie thought unhappily about missing that boat trip, she had an idea. She’d start a collection—a piece of everything she loved about this island. Even if she had only two weeks left, she could take it with her and never forget.

  She found a shiny black feather caught in the rocks and held it up to enjoy its metallic green and purple tints. This would make a perfect beginning.

  The ride back to the Fletchers’ house was peaceful. She couldn’t help noticing how much nicer her cousin seemed when she was outdoors and away from her family. Karin had been delighted with the cormorant nests, and when she gazed out at the ocean, her face softened.

  She must love it here too, Julie thought. At least they had that much in common.

  As soon as they got back, she went to look for Siem and found him down at the beach.

  “Look,” she exclaimed, as Karin and Stan joined her. “He’s better.” The big black dog didn’t have his usual bounce, but he was walking with only a slight limp.