Kate

Twenty-Six

CHAPTER ONE

In Farrago the only sirens you ever hear are the police escorting the local sports teams home after a victory game. As long as I can remember, the town has been so quiet you could hear the cats think. (Not my cat though, it's about the dumbest cat in the whole world.)

The people who live here are so law-abiding that you can hardly even find a gum wrapper on the sidewalk unless it blew out of one of the neat yellow trash cans along the street. The police have the easiest jobs of anyone in town, except maybe for Mrs. Collins who works at Bon Appetite, which is the only restaurant in town that has tablecloths. She just shows people where to sit and smiles at them.

Oh, I guess I should have started off by telling you my name, although I really can't see anyone sitting down and reading past an opening sentence like My name is Marybelle-Anna. Still, you need to call me something don't you? Well, it's not Marybelle-Anna, and thank goodness for that one small favour in my life. Not being overrun by blessings, I can at least be grateful that my mother called me something sensible and solid, like Kate, which is my name.

There's one other thing I should mention right off, which is that I'm fourteen years old and dying. (I guess that was two things, but the significance of one is sort of tied to the other, don't you think?) I'm not telling you that to get your sympathy or anything, it just doesn't seem the sort of thing you can bring up later on without it looking like you tried to pull a fast one by leaving it out at the start.

I should also tell you that my town's name isn't really Farrago. That's just a word I found in the dictionary one day and took a liking to. It means a confused collection, and that pretty much describes this place.

I don't suppose that too many fourteen-year-old kids read the dictionary, but I can't help that. It's not like I'm a geek or anything — maybe just a bit different from some kids my age. Sometimes when I find a certain word, it feels like an answer to a question I didn't even know I had.

Goodness! I must stop this rambling and get back to the beginning of my story. As I was saying, this place is so peaceful and quiet that the local paper would go broke if it was counting on crime for its news. Instead, we get a lot of pictures and stories of local interest, which, if you ask me, aren't actually all that interesting.

Anyway, when the police sirens started blaring on Saturday afternoon, and there was no sports team coming back into town, people took notice. Before long the streets were buzzing with folks trying to find out what was astir. I heard the news from old Mr. Cafferty, who passed by my veranda on his way home. He was heading back sooner than most of the townsfolk because his rheumatism was acting up and he had to lay down for a spell, but he stopped to give me the news. He had that look that people get when they have something to tell and they know you haven't yet heard it. His chest got kind of big for a minute, and his eyes had a shine of news on them.

How you doin today young'un? he asked, although he knows my name full well since we've lived a block from him all of my fourteen years. He didn't wait for me to answer, but went right on with his story, all bursting to let it out. Quite a thing for a town like this. Yessirree, quite a thing. Have you heard?

He knew I hadn't heard, since I was sitting there on the veranda and no one else had yet left the crowd he'd just taken himself from, but I allowed as I hadn't, and he nodded importantly, sat down on the rail, and took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

There's been a robbery! He wiped his head with the handkerchief as he spoke, mopping drops of sweat that glistened there in the sun. Leon's garage was held up not half an hour ago by a couple of young hoods passing through. The law has them already, picked them up on the other side of town.

It turned out later that the police had gotten the hoods, as Mr. Cafferty called them, quite by accident. Mrs. Wickholm's cat had gotten its paw stuck in the big oak tree in their front yard. She had summoned the police, and Officer Peterson was there trying to get the poor thing free when Mrs. Wickholm ran out on the lawn and told him that her sister-in-law had just called with the news that there was a robbery, and he'd better get back to headquarters quick.

The use of the word headquarters, which is actually a little room with yellow rose wallpaper that the town rents upstairs from Freddy's Barbershop, is not so surprising if you realize that Mrs. Wickholm's husband is the town dentist, a position that allows her to put on some airs and get away with it. After all, none of us are dumb enough to make fun of the woman whose husband is going to have a drill in our mouths at some time or other.

Anyway, Officer Peterson knew his car was low on gas, and worried that a trip to headquarters was going to leave him sadly lacking in fuel for a high-speed chase, which I suspect he'd been dreaming about his whole life. He's nice enough, but certainly not the smartest man in town, so when he later described his quick and clear thinking I kind of figured it was actually a decision brought on by panic. Instead of racing to the station, he telephoned there for details and found out that the robbery had taken place at Leon's, a gas station just a few blocks away.

Well, when Officer Peterson headed out toward Leon's garage, he was in a rush and took a corner a little too fast. The car swerved and came to rest, blocking the end of the street just as the car carrying the robbers arrived there. (He reported later that he was actually forming a roadblock, knowing full well that this was the most likely way out of town, but Mr. Brown had seen the whole thing and made full use of his observations to gather the attention that he was entitled to for having been walking his dog at that particular moment.)

What happened next becomes confused because a crowd had quickly gathered and there were as many stories as people to witness the event. The nearest I could gather, one of the kids involved in the robbery jumped out of his car and upchucked all over the pavement. His pal was screaming for him to get back in the car, but he just heaved and heaved all over Elm Street. By this time Officer Peterson had managed to get his wits about him, stepped from his patrol car, and announced to the pair that he was taking them into custody. He had his gun drawn, and they must have figured he meant business because they went along quietly.

By the time all the details had floated to my perch, the two were nicely tucked away in the makeshift cell the town had devised primarily for the use of old Berton Mills, who sometimes needs a place to rest after a night at The Pub.

The judge wasn't due to come in until the first of next month, so there were problems right off as to how the town was going to take care of this pair until that time. At a Town Meeting, it was decided that the ladies of the town could take turns making meals to send up to them, at the rate of two dollars for each breakfast and lunch, and four dollars per dinner.

My momma took on dinner three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. She announced it at the table the next evening.

Orville, she began nonchalantly, I've decided that it's my Christian duty to take part in feeding these two lost souls.

You will do no such thing, my father answered just as casually. I could see that he'd gotten wind of her plan earlier in the day and was ready. I will not have any member of my family exposed to the criminal element of society.

My little brother, Mark, took this opportunity to lean over and ask me in a whisper, Think she'll have to cry to get her way?

Hard to say, I hissed back quick, not wanting to miss anything.

Suppose, Momma said, it was our own boy, fallen astray, and in need of nourishment and kindness to bring him back to the right path.

I ain't robbing no gas station, Mark said indignantly.

"You aren't robbing any gas station, Momma corrected. She turned back to Daddy. I hear that one of the boys is an orphan, Orville. Apparently he's been raised by family members, shuttled from home to home with no one really wanting him. I think that calls for some mercy, don't you?"

I watched Daddy's face as soon as I heard the word orphan and saw that he knew he was licked. He sighed and threw up his hands. Do what you feel you must, Lillian. he muttered. And so, it was settled, with no great surprise to anyone at the table. Momma hardly ever argues with Daddy, but when she does, she wins.

When Momma's turn came for the first meal to be sent up, I begged to be allowed to deliver it. At first she was much opposed to it, and I had to get my lower lip trembling before she agreed to let me. I confess that it wasn't as important to me as all that, but in any case, she gave in.

If your father finds out that you've been there, he'll raise the roof right off the house, she warned, passing me the hamper of food.

I'll be back long before Daddy gets home, I promised, wondering what on earth Momma had packed in the hamper. It weighed a ton.

I hurried out before Momma could change her mind, and walked along the street with my insides all excited to be going to see real, honest-to-goodness criminals.

I knew that Officer Olson had the afternoon watch, and my chances of actually getting to see the robbers were good because of that. Any other cop in town would have taken the hamper and made me wait in the outer room, but Officer Olson is notoriously lazy and never stands when he can sit.

It was a little hard lugging the hamper up the steep flight of stairs and I had to stop and rest twice. It's hard to get my breath sometimes. Finally, I was at the top, facing a dimly lit hallway that ended at a door, sadly in need of paint and sporting a tarnished bronze sign that reads Farrago Police Station.

I turned the knob and found myself looking at Officer Olson, tilted back in a chair with his feet on the desk. He had a magazine in his hand, but he tossed it down when he saw me standing there.

Good afternoon, Officer, I said respectfully. I've brought dinner up. Shall I just take it in? Momma told me to make sure what she's made is suitable so she'll know whether to send the same again some time. The last was a lie, but it offered him a chance to let me go in without seeming to shirk his duty. He grabbed it happily.

Go on ahead then, if your Momma instructed you to do that, he said, waving his hand toward the back room. I'll be right here. If you need me just holler.

Yes, sir, I said. Thank you, sir.

We'd had a tour of the police station when I was in grade four, so I knew what to expect. A short hall turned at the end and faced the single cell. It had been roomy enough when I'd seen it for the first time, but appeared much smaller now. I realized at once that was because besides the one cot that was usually there, a second had been added along the other wall. This left a space in the middle of maybe three feet, which now formed a path to the sink and toilet along the back wall.

Over the sink was a tiny window, which didn't let in much light to add to the single light bulb that hung suspended in the middle of the room, with a dirty looking string dangling from it.

The cell had a front of bars, which the town had made from some kind of pipes, but the door was a normal metal type, so you had to stand to the side of the door to see in. This looked rather comical — having a door in the middle of a see-through wall. On the left side there was a break in the bars about halfway up, forming a rectangle of about ten inches wide by three inches deep. It was through here that the meals would have to be passed, and I went to the opening and sat the hamper down to unpack it.

The two young men in the cell looked up without much interest as I knelt at the hamper. Their appearance surprised me. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but they sure weren't it. Both could have been students at the high school two blocks to the right. They wore blue jeans and T-shirts and had faces that were perfectly average. I glanced up, trying to find some sign of the sinister evil that made them criminals, but their answering looks were lacking in anything but boredom.

Whatcha got there, kid? The fellow who spoke didn't look more than seventeen. He was thin, with a pale complexion, light brown hair, and hazel eyes. Across from him, half lying on the other bed, was the second youth, taller but equally thin, with dark skin, eyes, and hair. I knew right off that it was the younger, paler fellow who had puked on the street.

Dinner for eight, by the feel of this basket, I answered, pulling the lid off and peering inside. At my words the younger boy came over to the bars and looked at me closely.

"You're a girl," he said, with unflattering surprise in his voice.

Well, we all have to be one or the other, I answered shortly, and I do believe when I was born the doctor informed my mother that she'd been blessed with a female child.

A girl with a mouth, he added with a backward glance at his partner. He turned back to me. "Why's your