Big Josh eyed the writhing body. “Thought you might want to taste copperhead, you not being from these parts.” He edged closer to Charlie with the snake held high.
“Hey, get that away from here,” Charlie warned, as Kit and Aunt Millie stepped back.
“Aw, I’m just razzin’ you.” With a laugh, Big Josh headed toward the woods and soon lumbered back with an empty stick.
“Did you—?” Kit began.
“Nah,” he replied. “I let it go. Them copperheads usually don’t look for trouble. And they keep down the rodents. Did you catch that cucumber smell?”
“Yeah, weird,” Kit said, keeping her distance. She wasn’t sure she liked Big Josh’s sense of humor.
“Copperheads give off that smell when they get startled. I guess it thought that trunk was home.”
“But how did it get in my trunk?” Charlie pressed.
A twinkle danced at the corners of Big Josh’s brown eyes, as his bushy eyebrows joined up in concern. “Somebody’s idea of a prank, I bet,” he said.
“Some prank!” Aunt Millie crossed her arms.
“A garter snake, that would be one thing,” Charlie agreed. “But a copperhead?”
Big Josh wagged his head of thick red hair. “Aw, you know how some guys are. I could think of any number who might—”
“But what if it had bitten him?!” Kit interrupted.
“I’d be over there,” Charlie said, pointing to the hospital. “One guy got bit in the ankle by a copperhead and his whole leg turned purple—swelled up like a melon.”
“Did someone pull a prank on him, too?” Anger built under Kit’s ribs—fiery hot—but she drew her lower lip between her teeth to keep from saying more.
“Nope,” Big Josh answered with a smirk. “That guy found that one all on his own down the road, moving a wood pile.”
With the snake gone, Charlie returned to his barracks for the arrowheads. “Now they’re your responsibility,” he said, putting them in Kit’s outstretched hand.
As she tucked the bits of chiseled stone in her pocket, she whispered, “Charlie, I think you should keep an eye on Big Josh.”
He laughed. “Oh, Kit. He’s a big puppy.”
But as they walked back to the aging red truck, Kit found it hard to let her suspicions go. “He handles snakes as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. If he could take the snake out of the barracks that easily, he could have been the one who put it in there in the first place.”
“You are a born reporter, Kit,” Charlie said as he tousled her hair. “But honestly, of all the guys here, he’s the last person I’d worry about.”
Kit climbed onto the truck’s front seat, between her brother and Aunt Millie. As they bounced down the road, sunshine blinked between leafy patches of deep green and open expanses of fields and farms. Kit waved to everyone they passed: field-workers, an elderly couple rocking on a porch, three teenage boys walking along the road. In return, she received mostly scowls and stares.
Her chest tightened. “Charlie, practically nobody waves back.”
“Yeah,” he said, hands planted on the steering wheel. “Not everyone wants a national park. Folks get paid for their property, but that doesn’t mean they want to sell. Some families have been passing on these places to the next generation for over a hundred years. I understand how they feel. Nobody wants to be forced from their home. But the government has the power to do it. It’s a law called eminent domain.”
“Why do the people have to leave?” Kit asked. “Isn’t Mammoth Cave National Park going to be all underground?”
“Nope. It’s the land aboveground, too.”
Kit gathered her thoughts and exhaled. “So the fire and the snake could be the work of somebody who’s angry…angry that their land is being turned into a park.”
“Maybe,” Charlie said. “Might be somebody’s way of getting back at the government.”
Kit’s thoughts tangled into a knot. “Charlie, I’m glad you have a job here. But…” Her eyes filled with hot tears. “I can’t bear the thought that someone is trying to hurt you. You should come home.”
Charlie shot her a glance and half-chuckled, but Kit could tell he wasn’t really laughing, just trying to make her feel better. “No,” he said. “I’m not running away. I’m doing important work here. And you’re here to have some fun. Still, I’m keeping my eyes open, and, while you’re here, you should, too.”
“I will,” Kit replied. “That’s a promise.”
chapter 3
The Letter
AUNT MILLIE READ the sign aloud: “‘Thatcher Farm.’ This is it!”
The truck slowed as Charlie downshifted and turned at the wooden sign. “Oh, it’s been so many years!” Aunt Millie said as they followed the winding, gravel drive. “I hope Pearl recognizes me.”
Around the last bend, trees gave way to wide fields surrounding a two-story clapboard farmhouse, a red barn on a stone foundation, and several outbuildings. Dozens of sheep grazed a grassy slope. In another field, crops grew thick and green, edged by a row of tall sunflowers, their gold-rimmed brown faces nodding in the afternoon sun. Chickens clucked and pecked outside a chicken coop. A speckled black-and-white rooster picked that very moment to ruffle his feathers, tilt back his red crown, and crow. Roo-roo-a-roooooooo!
“Hello to you, too!” Kit replied.
As they pulled up to the large farmhouse, a plump woman with two white braids dashed onto the front porch. Her apron fluttered over a lavender sundress. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, as if to hold down a runaway smile. “Millie!” she called, her arms wide and ready. “God sent you on wings!”
Aunt Millie jumped out of the passenger door and met her friend in a hug. “Oh, Pearl! You haven’t changed a bit!”
“And you must be Kit and Charlie. I’m Miss Pearl,” she said, adding, “Charlie, you’ll stay for dinner.”
“Is that an order, ma’am?” Charlie grinned.
“Sure is,” Miss Pearl said, hands on her hips.
“I’ll never turn down a home-cooked meal.” Charlie gave Kit a wink, then grabbed the luggage and headed onto the porch steps.
“Now, I must tell y’all,” Miss Pearl said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she opened the front door. “Gran-mammy—my husband Jesse’s mother—took to bed some days ago. We’ve set her up downstairs in the sewing room, where it’s easier to care for her.”
They stepped in. A banister staircase loomed in the entry. From the right came the tick-ticking of a clock and a bright shaft of afternoon sunlight. “The living room,” Miss Pearl said. Through the open door, Kit spotted a stone hearth, and a spinning wheel beside it. On either side of a velvet sofa, side tables held a violin and dulcimer, waiting to be played. Then Miss Pearl turned and motioned to the smaller, darker room to Kit’s left, where soft, rhythmic snoring rose from beneath a mounded pink quilt.
Miss Pearl whispered, “I hope y’all won’t mind sharing Gran-mammy’s double bed upstairs.”
“Not at all,” Aunt Millie said. “And she can have her bed back the moment she starts feeling better.”
Miss Pearl folded her hands together and brought them under her chin. “Yes, let’s hope. Bless your heart.”
…