'Then maybe it was Spur.'
Spur would have denied it if Comfort had given him the chance.
'He never knew.' Her voice was sharp. 'Nobody did.' She confronted the boy. 'Don't play games with me, upsider.' He tried to back away but she pursued him. 'Why do you care about my father? Why are you here?'
'Are you crazy?' Ngonda caught the High Gregory as he stumbled over a rock and then thrust the boy behind him. 'This is my nephew Lucky.'
'She knows, friend Constant.' The High Gregory peeked out from behind the deputy's flair jacket. He was glowing with excitement. 'Spur told her everything.'
'Oh, no.' Ngonda slumped. 'This isn't going well at all.'
'Memsen gave us all research topics for the trip here to meet Spur,' said the High Gregory. 'Kai Thousandfold was assigned to find out about you. You'd like him; he's from Bellweather. He says that he's very worried about you, friend Comfort.'
'Tell him to mind his own business.'
Spur was aghast. 'Comfort, I'm sorry, I didn't know…'
'Be quiet, Spur. These upsiders are playing you for the fool that you are.' Her eyes were wet. 'I hardly knew my father and what I did know, I didn't like. Mom would probably still be alive if she hadn't been left to manage the farm by herself all those years.' Her chin quivered; Spur had never seen her so agitated. 'She told us that Grandma Nen was a pukpuk, but that she emigrated from the barrens long before my father was born and that he was brought up a citizen like anyone else.' Tears streaked her face. 'So don't think you understand anything about me because you found out about a dead woman who I never met.'
With that she turned and walked stiff-legged back toward Diligence Cottage. She seemed to have shrunk since the morning, and now looked so insubstantial to Spur that a summer breeze might carry her off like milkweed. He knew there was more - much more - they had to talk about, but first they would have to find a new way to speak to each other. As she disappeared into the woods, he felt a twinge of nostalgia for the lost simplicity of their youth, when life really had been as easy as Chairman Winter promised it could be.
'I'm hungry.' The High Gregory seemed quite pleased with himself. 'Is it lunchtime yet?' d
After he had spun out lunch for as long as he could, Spur was at a loss as to how to keep the High Gregory out of trouble. They had exhausted the sights of the Leung farmstead, short of going over to visit with his father in the big house. Spur considered it, but decided to save it for a last resort. He had hoped to spend the afternoon touring the Joerly farmstead, but now that was out of the question. As the High Gregory fidgeted about the cottage, picking things up and putting them down again, asking about family pix, opening cabinets and pulling out drawers, Spur proposed that they take a spin around Littleton in Sly’s truck. A rolling tour, he told himself. No stops.
The strategy worked for most of an hour. At first the High Gregory was content to sit next to Spur in the back of the truck as he pointed out Littleton's landmarks and described the history of the village. They drove up Lamana Ridge Road to Lookover Point, from which they had a view of most of Littleton Commons. The village had been a Third Wave settlement, populated by the winners of the lottery of 2432. In the first years of settlement, the twenty-five founding families had worked together to construct the buildings of the Commons: the self-reliance school, athenaeum, communion lodge, town hall and Littleton's first exchange, where goods and services could be bought or bartered. The First Twenty-five had lived communally in rough barracks until the buildings on the Commons were completed, and then gradually moved out to their farmsteads as land was cleared and crews of carpenters put up the cottages and barns and sheds for each of the families. The Leungs had arrived in the Second Twenty-five four years afterward. The railroad had come through three years after that and most of the businesses of the first exchange moved from the Commons out to Shed Town by the train station. Sly drove them down the ridge and they bumped along back roads, past farms and fields and pastures. They viewed the Toba and Parochet and Velez farmsteads from a safe distance and passed Sambusa's lumberyard at the confluence of Mercy's Creek and the Swift River. Then they pulled back onto CR22.
The only way back to Diligence Cottage was through the Commons. 'Drive by the barracks,' Spur called to Sly in the cab. 'We can stretch our legs there,' he said to the High Gregory. 'I'll show you how the First Twenty-five lived.' One of the original barracks had been preserved as a historical museum across the lawn from the communion lodge. It was left open to any who wanted to view its dusty exhibits. Spur thought it the best possible choice for a stop; except for Founders' Day, the Chairman's birthday and Thanksgiving, nobody ever went there.
The Commons appeared to be deserted as they passed the buildings of the first exchange. These had been renovated into housing for those citizens of Littleton who didn't farm, like the teachers at the self-reliance school and Dr. Christopoulos and some of the elders, like Gandy Joy. They saw Doll Groth coming out of the athenaeum. Recognizing the truck, she gave Sly a neighborly wave, but when she spotted Spur in the back, she smiled and began to clap, raising her hands over her head. This so pleased the High Gregory that he stood up and started clapping back at her. Spur had to brace him to keep him from pitching over the side of the truck.
But Doll was the only person they saw. Spur couldn't believe his good fortune as they pulled up to the barracks, dust from the gravel parking lot swirling around them. The wind had picked up, but provided no relief from the midsummer heat. Spur's shirt stuck to his back where he had been leaning against the cab of the truck. Although he wasn't sure whether the High Gregory could sweat or not, the boy's face was certainly flushed. Ngonda looked as if he were liquefying inside his flair jacket. The weather fit Spur's latest plan neatly. He was hoping that after they had spent a half-hour in the hot and airless barracks, he might be able to persuade the High Gregory to return to Diligence Cottage for a swim in the creek. After that it would practically be suppertime. And after that they could watch the tell. Or he might teach the High Gregory some of the local card games. Spur had always been lucky at Fool All.
It wasn't until the engine of the Sawatdees' truck coughed and rattled and finally cut out that Spur first heard the whoop of the crowd. Something was going on at the ball fields next to the self-reliance school, just down the hill a couple hundred meters. He tried to usher the High Gregory into the barracks but it was too late. Spur thought there must be a lot of people down there. They were making a racket that was hard to miss.
The High Gregory cocked his head in the direction of the school and smiled. 'Lucky us,' he said. 'We're just in time for Memsen.'
Thirteen
I associate this day, when I can remember it, with games of base-ball played over behind the hills in the russet fields toward Sleepy Hollow. - Journal, 1856
'What is this?' hissed Ngonda.
Sly pulled his floppy hat off and wiped his forehead with it. 'Looks like a baseball game, city pants,' said Sly.
The L'ung were in the field; with a sick feeling Spur counted twelve of them in purple overalls and black t-shirts. They must have arrived in the two vans that were parked next to the wooden bleachers. Beside the vans was an array of trucks, scooters and bicycles from the village. There must have been a hundred citizens sitting in the bleachers and another twenty or thirty prowling the edges of the field, cheering the home team on. Match Klizzie had opened the refreshment shed and was barbequing sausages. Gandy Joy had set up her communion tent: Spur could see billows of sweet white smoke whenever one of the villagers pulled back the flap.
With many of the younger baseball regulars off at the firefight, the Littleton Eagles might have been undermanned. But Spur could see that some old-timers had come out of retirement to pull on the scarlet hose. Warp Kovacho was just stepping up to home base and Spur spotted Cape sitting on the strikers' bench, second from the inbox.
Betty Chief Twosalt shined the ball against her overalls as she peered in at Warp. 'Where to, old sir?' She was playing feeder for the L'ung.
Warp swung the flat bat at belt level to show her just where he wanted the feed to cross home base. 'Right here, missy,' he said. 'Then you better duck.' They were playing with just two field bases, left and right. The banners fixed to the top of each basepole snapped in the stiffening breeze.
Betty nodded and then delivered the feed underhanded. It was slow and very fat but Warp watched it go by. The Pendragon Chromlis Furcifer was catching for the L'ung. She barehanded it and flipped it back to Betty.
'What's he waiting for?' grumbled the High Gregory. 'That was perfect.' He ignored Spur's icy stare.
'Just a smight lower next time, missy,' said Warp, once again indicating his preference with the bat. 'You got the speed right, now hit the spot.'
Young Melody Velez was perched at the end of the topmost bleacher and noticed Spur passing beneath her.
