Dirty Faces - Book 2

Chapter 8: Rebels

Chapter 8: Rebels

Ginny sat in the kitchen lacing up her boots the next morning before the rest of the household was awake. Mama was usually up before daylight, but she must have been worn out from the trip. Ginny threw on her coat over yesterday's clothes, tread lightly through the front room so as not to wake Adam, and slipped quietly out the front door. As she stepped out into the dirt road, she pried open the door on the crooked, rusty mailbox to see if there were any surprises inside. It was, of course, empty. She forced it closed, gave the little wood house with the rusty metal roof and the smoke coming out the chimney one last look before she headed into town, and smiled.

There was much to be done at home, she knew, things with which she would be expected to help. The trucks still needed unloading and there was unpacking to do, and if anyone was going to town, they ought to bring Adam along to show him around. But she figured Kody and Jack were better at all that than she was, anyway. She knew she would be in trouble and there would be consequences, but some things were just worth the whipping.

Frost-covered ground crunched under Kody's hand-me-down boots, but it was an otherwise quiet trip into town on that almost-winter morning. Ginny's pace was brisk, like the morning itself, and she continually found herself tugging at the too-short sleeves of her coat. She had never much cared for cold weather because Mama didn't let her play outside as much as she did when it was warm.

Her excitement grew as she neared town. It didn't matter that there wouldn't be as much to do today as there had been back in the summer; she was confident whatever she found to do would be far more more interesting than anything she had to do back at the house. And what there was or was not to do wasn't nearly as important as with whom she would be doing or not doing whatever. There were people she needed to see.

She could see smoke pouring from the chimneys of all the dingy, white company houses, but she headed in the direction of the schoolhouse. The dirt patch beside it was empty, but she knew where to go. She passed the company store and glanced in the plate glass windows to see Mr. Kelly helping a little old lady get an item off a high shelf. Just up the street a little ways, the bell on the diner's door jingled, and the smell of something greasy and made of pork spilled out with the customers leaving. Ginny imagined back at the house Aunt Betty would be providing breakfast, and almost wished she'd stuck around for that.

Her pace never slowed, though, until she stopped to gaze up at the broken second-floor window of that old, gray house filled with dust, and possums, and secrets. She shuddered at the thought of the secrets she did know, that she herself now kept. She wondered what, if anything, Adam knew of this house; she imagined it was about as much as she had known this time a year ago, and she figured it was probably best if it stayed that way. Houses like that probably had even more stories to tell, but she wasn't interested in hearing any of them, not now.

When she remembered what she was doing, she kept walking until she got to the long, gravel drive leading to the boarding house. She always made this trip with a mix of apprehension and enthusiastic anticipation, since there was always the chance that the Priest himself might answer the door. But once the door was open, no matter who opened it, she would have friends inside.

The Priest's car wasn't parked outside, so she figured he was out tending to the sick or injured outside the confines of town. She opened the screen door, stepped onto the porch, and pressed the button that rang the fancy door bell. She waited a few minutes, but no one answered. Knowing not to ring again and wake up a sleeping boarder on his day off, she glumly turned and stepped back out the screen door. She shoved her freezing hands deep into her coat pockets as she crunched back down the gravel drive.

Suddenly, she stopped; she thought she could make out the distinct sound of an ax splitting wood. She turned around and walked around the side of the house to the back yard. On the other side of the yard was a particularly large pile of pine logs, and beside it was a not-particularly-large boy with an ax. Brown-haired and wearing a flannel shirt that was entirely too big for him, even with his back to her, Ginny knew this one of her favorite people.

He was too busy swinging the ax and splitting the logs into firewood to notice her sneak up behind him. She stood there a few minutes and watched, the corners of her lips turned upward; it was quite apparent he had done this before because he was making a sizable dent in the pile of logs at a pretty good clip. Finally, tired of watching, she waited for the ax to come down and then said his name.

“Rowdy.”

He jumped a little, startled, then said, “That ain't Ginny Paserella I hear.”

“But it is,” she replied.

The Priest's nephew and ward dropped the ax to his side and turned around, a welcoming smile on his face. “When did you get back?”

“Last night.”

“You're taller than me. When did that happen?”

“Hard to say. It's been a while.”

“I'd say. You just missed me last summer.”

“I know. By a week.”

Rowdy shook his head. “A day. Got back from my cousins' farm earlier than expected.”

“Really?”

“Really. But it sure is good to see ya now.”

Ginny smiled. “You, too.” She nodded toward the pile of firewood. “Looks like you've got that down to an art.”

He looked dolefully at the pile of logs and sighed. “Yeah, but I've got my work cut out for me.”

“Why can't Danny and Tommy help you? Do they not live here anymore?”

“They do.” His blue eyes fell. “They just know how to act.”

“Oh.” Ginny bit her lip. She didn't want to know what transgression he'd committed this time. “Are they here now?”

“No. Uncle Frank takes them to visit their Pap one Saturday a month.”

“And all this is supposed to be done when they get back?”

“Reckon so.”

She was quiet a moment, thinking. “I guess I could try to help,” she offered.

“Nah, Ginny, why don't you run on and find Becky and J.D., and y'all go do something with this Saturday?”

“Well, alright then, if you say so. Maybe later?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

Mm. That Bad. She nodded her understanding and turned to walk away. She crossed the back yard once more and turned around the side of the house.

Rowdy didn't return to his task. Instead, he looked down at the ax, then at the pile of logs and gave it a fair amount of thought before he dropped the ax on the ground and said, “Aw, heck. Ginny, wait up!” She had barely made it to the gravel drive when he caught up with her.

“What do you think you're doing?” she asked.

“I'm spending the day with my best friend. 'Less you've got something to say about it.”

“I do have something to say about it! Rowdy Riley, you're gonna be in so much trouble when your uncle gets home. And I don't want any part of it.”

 He sighed. “Yeah. But ya see, Ginny, I've come to realize in my years that some things are just worth the whipping.”