Runaway

  Runaway

  Becky Citra

  Copyright © 2003 Becky Citra

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Citra, Becky

  Runaway / Becky Citra.

  Electronic Monograph

  Issued also in print format.

  ISBN 9781551434421(pdf) -- ISBN 9781554697038 (epub)

  I. Title.

  PS8555.I87R86 2003 jC813’.54 C2003-910880-5

  PZ7.C499Ru 2003

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2003107507

  Summary: Max and Ellie series. Historical fiction. Max must face his first moral dilemma when an abused boy turns up in his secret fort in the forest.

  Teachers’ guide available at www.orcabook.com

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support of its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Department of Canadian Heritage, the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

  Cover design by Christine Toller

  Cover illustration by Don Kilby

  Interior illustrations by Stephen McCallum

  In Canada:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  In the United States:

  Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 468

  Custer, WA USA

  98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  05 04 03 • 5 4 3 2 1

  for the boys and girls at

  Bridge Lake Elementary School

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Stay in the wagon with your sister, Max,” said Papa.

  “But Papa…”

  Papa picked his way through the weeds to Sam Black’s cabin. He knocked on the door and then disappeared inside.

  Sam Black and his boy had moved here a month ago. You could see where Sam Black had started to cut down a few trees to clear a field and then given up. The bottom step of the cabin was missing and an old broken wagon wheel lay in the weeds. A huge brown bull stared at us over a rickety fence, munching on a mouthful of grass.

  We’d passed by the cabin once before and I’d heard someone shouting but I’d never even had a glimpse of Sam Black or his boy. It wasn’t fair of Papa to make us stay in the wagon. I glanced sideways at Ellie. She was fussing over a box of kittens on her lap. I sighed. Ellie was all right for a sister, but she was bossy. Knowing her, she’d tell Papa for sure.

  I studied the bull. It was the cause of all our trouble. Last week it had broken out twice and wandered the two miles through the bush to our farm. It bothered our cows and made Star go crazy barking and then it trampled Ellie’s lettuce and potato plants. Papa had finally made up his mind to talk to Sam Black.

  “Aren’t you scared?” I’d asked as we bumped along the wagon road to Sam Black’s farm.

  “Of course not,” said Papa.

  I’d thought about what my friend

  Red had told me. Red’s family owned the general store at The Landings. Sam Black had stopped there to pick up supplies on his way to the farm.

  “Red says Sam Black’s so strong he bent a piece of iron at the blacksmith’s without even trying!”

  “Your friend Red has a lot of imagination,” said Papa.

  “Red says Sam Black shot a dog between the eyes because it stole a hunk of meat off his wagon.”

  Papa smiled. “I don’t think he’ll shoot me.”

  I saved my best argument for the end. “Red says he heard Sam Black killed a man once and that’s why everyone’s so scared of him.”

  Papa stopped smiling then and gave me a talk about repeating gossip and judging people unfairly and I kept quiet for the rest of the way.

  Now I turned my eyes from the bull and looked hard at the cabin and hoped someone would come outside.

  I wiggled on the hard wagon seat. “It’s not fair,” I said.

  “You say that about everything,” said Ellie. She lifted out a tiny striped kitten. I looked at her face to see if she was going to cry again. Her cheeks were pale and there were puffy red circles around her eyes. In the winter, our neighbor’s cat had produced a litter of kittens. They were thin and weak and only two survived. Ellie had been allowed to bring them home and nurse them until they were stronger, but now Papa said Ellie had to find homes for them at The Landings. Last night, she had cried hard and begged to keep them, but Papa said our cat Pirate was enough.

  Ellie stroked the kitten, slipped it back and took out its brother. I put my hand in my pocket and touched my coin. I had earned it picking rocks in Mr. McDougall’s field and as soon as we got to The Landings, I was going to spend it at the general store.

  A thin plume of ragged smoke drifted from the cabin’s chimney. The windows looked cold and empty. Papa had been ages. I slid off the wagon seat and hopped to the ground.

  “Get back here, Max!” said Ellie. “Papa said…”

  I pretended I didn’t hear and ran through the tall weeds.

  Bang! Bang!

  I froze. The sound came from behind the cabin, like someone hitting something hard. I glanced up at the windows. What had happened to Papa? I sucked in my breath and ducked around the side.

  A boy was swinging an axe at a log propped up against a stump. I slipped behind a tree and watched. The boy split the log in half and then picked up the pieces and threw them on a pile.

  I’d never seen such a skinny boy. When he swung the axe his shoulder blades stuck out under his shirt. His feet were bare and his pants ended in a ragged line just below his knees. The boy split two more pieces of wood. Then he dropped the axe and leaned over, gulping in air, his hands on his knees.

  Suddenly a door swung open at the back of the cabin and a man burst out. Sam Black! He was much taller than Papa. He had a fierce red face, stubbly and unshaven. He wore an old undershirt and his big belly hung out between his suspenders. His arms were massive, like tree trunks, and covered with black hair.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he thundered. “Ain’t quitting time!”

  “I wasn’t…” The boy ducked as Sam Black’s huge arm swung at his back. “Ow!” He stumbled forwards and fell onto his knees.

  I swallowed. I tried to stay as still as a leaf. If only I had stayed in the wagon like Papa said!

  The boy stood up slowly and for a frozen second his eyes met mine. They opened wide in surprise. His cheek was red and a thin stream of blood trickled from his nose.

  I held my breath. I thought, please, please, don’t give me away. Sam Black shot dogs. What would he do to a boy spying on him?

  Sam Black picked up a chunk of wood. “When you’re done here, you can start moving them rocks for me.”

  He took a long look around, his face scowling. I pressed myself against the trunk and closed my eyes. I thought he would never go. But at last I heard a grunt and the cabin door slammed shut.

  I opened my eyes and peered past the tree again.

  The boy wiped his face. Tears smeared the dust on his face. He glared at me. “What are you starin’ at?”

  My throat felt dry. I turned and ran.

  Papa was climbing in the wagon. I scrambled up after him. His mouth was set in a thin tight line and he was frowning, but he didn’t even seem to notice me.

  Sam Black came out of the cabin and walked over to the wagon. He was smiling, like he was pleased about something. His teeth were stained brown and his beard looked dirty. He leered inside Ellie’s box. “Kittens. I need some good mousers.”

  Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She stared at Papa pleadingly.

  “Well,” said Papa. He looked unhappy.

  Sam Black stuck his hand in the box and lifted up a kitten by the scruff of its neck. His fingernails were broken and black. He swung the kitten back and forth until it yelped. “I’ll take them both.”

  I held my breath and didn’t look at Ellie.

  “No,” said Papa firmly. “We’re keeping the kittens actually. They’re just along for the ride today.”

  Ellie sagged beside me. Sam Black scowled and dropped the kitten.

  “Now we’d best be going.” Papa picked up the reins.

  “Wait!” I said. I had spotted something glinting on the ground. My coin! It must have dropped out of my pocket. I jumped off the wagon seat and reached for the coin.

  Sam Black’s huge boot covered it.

  I yanked my hand back. “That’s my money!” I said.

  “Well now, I don’t think so.” Sam Black leaned over and picked up the coin.

  “Papa!” I cried.

  Papa frowned. “Sam, my boy worked hard…”

  Sam Black smiled. “I’d call that stealin’. Coming on someone’s property and takin’ their money.”

  “Be reasonable, man,” said Papa.

  “I bin reasonable,” said Sam Black. “I bin reasonable about my bull. I told you, if you get rid of yer cows, then my bull won’t have no reason to come visiting.”

  He leaned towards Papa. I could smell whiskey. “Now you be reasonable and get off my property.”

  Silence hung between Papa and Sam Black like a thick cloud. Then Papa said, “Get in the wagon, Max.”

  He clucked to our horses and we bounced over the bumps and ruts.
>
  My face burned. “Papa, that was my money! And I saw him hit his boy. He made him bleed. We ought to go back!”

  Papa looked grey.

  “You should do something about the boy, Papa,” whispered Ellie. She pressed a kitten against her cheek. Her hands were shaking.

  “And my money,” I muttered.

  “There’s just no sense picking a fight with a man like Sam Black,” said Papa. “And I can’t tell a man how to raise his boy.” He sounded sad.

  I turned around and stared back at the cabin. Sam Black stood on the road with his fists on his hips, watching us. He laughed.

  Behind him, his thin arms hugging his chest, stood the boy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I saw Sam Black and his boy again a lot sooner than I wanted. By Sunday morning, Papa had finished all his business at The Landings and he and Ellie and the two kittens went home. I stayed at my Uncle Stuart’s gristmill, helping him with chores and playing with Red. Our old friend Napoleon, who worked on our farm chopping trees a long time ago, was in town. He was coming back to live with us for the fall, and would bring me with him at the end of the week.

  The day before we were leaving, Napoleon and I walked up the road to the general store, so he could buy some last minute supplies. As we passed the inn, someone shouted and a loud laugh burst out. My heart jumped into my throat. I knew that mean laugh. Sure enough, Sam Black stumbled through the doorway.

  I had told Napoleon all about our new neighbours. I tugged at his sleeve. “It’s him,” I hissed. “It’s Sam Black.”

  A startled look crossed Napoleon’s face. “So that’s Sam Black,” he said softly.

  Before I had a chance to ask Napoleon what he meant, Sam Black swaggered across the road, his huge boots splashing right through the middle of a mud puddle, and we had to jump to get out of his way. He lurched to a stop and stared at me. He was breathing hard and his eyes were bloodshot. Then he grinned and sneered, “Spend all your money, boy?”

  I clenched my fists, but Napoleon grabbed my arm and said, “He’s been drinking, Max. Just keep going.”

  Napoleon strode up the road, his face creased in a frown. I peeked over my shoulder once. Sam Black was bent over, shouting at a dog that slinked away with its belly low to the ground.

  Napoleon had acted like he knew Sam Black. He didn’t want to pick a fight with the man, just like Papa, but I didn’t think it was right for everyone to run away from him. I was fuming when we went into the store. Red was hard at work, unpacking china plates from a barrel full of straw. He looked relieved to see me.

  “Sam Black’s in town!” I said. “And he’s drunk!”

  Napoleon frowned. Red glanced at the back of the store where a skinny boy stood behind a pile of bulging sugar sacks. Sam Black’s boy!

  The boy’s cheeks flamed dark red. His eyes met mine, and I knew he remembered me. I wished I could take back my words. I looked away and pretended to be interested in a display of rakes.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the boy. He was wearing the same ragged pants and shirt, with a faded red plaid cap pulled over his head. Fierce blisters covered his bare heels. Last night Uncle Stuart had told Napoleon, “If that good-for -nothing Sam Black cleared his land and planted some wheat, he’d be able to buy some food and clothes for his boy.”

  Two women came in the store looking for cloth and Red’s pa spread a big bolt of brown cotton across the counter. Red swept up the straw that he’d scattered all over the floor, whistling like he always did when he finished a boring job. I helped Napoleon sort nails into a box. Papa had given me some old scraps of chicken coop lumber for the fort I was building, and I was hoping for some nails too.

  Sam Black’s boy poked around nervously, peering in a few barrels. You could bet he didn’t have any money. What was he doing?

  Finally the boy sidled towards the door. His dirty hand hovered over a basket of lumpy brown potatoes. He grabbed one and dashed outside.

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Hey! He stole a potato!”

  Red must have been watching him too because at the same time he yelled, “Thief!”

  Everything happened fast after that.

  “Come on!” hollered Red, and he dropped his broom with a clatter and ran through the door.

  Behind me Napoleon said, “Wait, Max,” but I raced after Red. I had to see what was going to happen.

  The boy sprinted up the road, weaving through a cluster of chattering women and ducking around an ox cart.

  The driver hollered, “You! Watch where you’re going,” but the boy kept running. For such a skinny boy, he sure was fast. I pounded behind Red, breathing hard as we tried to keep him in sight. The boy glanced over his shoulder and then ducked behind the blacksmith shop.

  “He’s going to the river,” panted Red.

  Behind the blacksmith’s, a steep trail dropped through the forest to the river. I skidded and stumbled on the rough ground. I caught glimpses of the boy’s ragged shirt and red cap through the trees, and then we slid down a bank onto the gravelly river bed.

  For a second, I thought the boy was going to plunge right into the icy water. He turned and stared wildly at us. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he still clutched the potato in his dirty hand.

  I wasn’t sure what Red was going to do now, and I don’t think he knew either. It was so still you could hear our hearts pounding. Finally Red said, “You’re a thief! Wait til my pa tells your pa.”

  Fear flashed across the boy’s face. Then he said fiercely, “He ain’t my pa.”

  There was a long silence. Red must have been as surprised as I was. I guess everyone figured Sam Black was the boy’s pa. Finally Red said, “Then how come your name’s Lucas Black?”

  The boy glared at us, his eyes burning with hate, but he didn’t say a word.

  “You’ll get a beating anyway,” said Red.

  “I don’t care,” said the boy. His voice wavered but he met Red’s eyes without flinching. Then he turned and hurled the potato into the river.

  We all stared at the water. A cool breeze blew across the river and I shivered and hugged my arms to my chest. I was wearing my jacket with the sheepskin lining and I was cold. The boy must be freezing.

  Red said, “So why don’t you tell Max why you were snooping around about him? Asking questions?”

  “I wasn’t,” said the boy.

  “You were too,” said Red. He turned to me. “He kept asking me how much longer you were staying in town. He was asking all kinds of nosey questions.”

  “I wasn’t,” repeated the boy.

  “You’re a thief and a liar,” said Red.

  The boy licked his lips. They were red and chapped and everyone knows that licking makes them worse. Suddenly I felt a little bit sick. “Come on, Red,” I muttered. “Let’s leave him alone.”

  Red hesitated, and then said loudly, “We’re just wasting our time here anyway.” He sounded more disgusted than mad now.

  We started back up the trail, leaving Lucas Black standing beside the river, his arms pulled tightly across his chest.

  Red turned back once and shouted, “You should have kept the dumb potato.”

  Sam Black and Lucas must have left The Landings that day because I didn’t see them again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  On the way home, I watched the broad backs of Napoleon’s oxen as we bounced over the rough wagon road, my head whirling with confusing thoughts. Red had called the boy Lucas Black, but the boy said Sam Black wasn’t his pa. And why was Lucas Black asking questions about me? Why did he care when I was coming home?

  I felt better when I saw our lake through the trees. We were almost home. When Papa built our cabin, we were the only family living on the lake. Now it was hard to remember not having neighbours. We rumbled past the McDougall’s farm, and I waved at Mr. McDougall and Jeremy, who were walking behind their plough in the field.

  When we passed Sam Black’s cabin, I turned and stared even though I didn’t want to. Even more weeds had grown up in the week I’d been gone.

  “I don’t like Lucas Black,” I said.

  Napoleon turned and studied my face. “Now why is that?”

  “Well, he’s a thief,” I said, wishing Napoleon wouldn’t stare at me quite so hard. “Nobody likes a thief.”

  Napoleon sighed. “He’s a hungry boy. Very hungry, if he has to steal a potato.”