Of course she knew the contents didn’t include actual pirate booty, but that didn’t dampen the excitement of finding the package in the location where they’d seen the drone before. Nothing this thrilling had happened since her arrival at the holler. And since the three children had slinked past the secured perimeter, it would be their secret. Serena Jo nor her henchmen would know about it.
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out,” she said. “You two stay here.” She reached for her knife and flicked out the blood-oath blade as she approached the small pallet. Her eyes darted in all directions, seeking would-be assailants, either human, animal, or something else entirely. This northern section of the woods exuded a preternatural aura. There may be trolls or evil fairies living nearby.
When she reached the pallet, a handwritten note taped to the top caught her eye. The words felt a bit anti-climactic. She had been hoping for fairy-speak or perhaps some kind of mysterious code she could decipher.
The blade made quick work of the plastic, then flicked across the tape sealing the cardboard flaps. Holding her breath, she flipped them open. No pirate treasure filled the box. Instead, was a king’s ransom in Pop-Tarts, as well as some metallic pouches bearing labels: Meatloaf with Gravy, Beef Teriyaki, and the one that really got her attention, Macaroni and Cheese.
She hadn’t eaten the beloved food since Knoxville.
She signaled for Harlan to help carry the bounty into the forest. Once they had scrambled back to the safety of the trees, the two boys dug through the box while Willadean read the note again. She pondered the words, as well as possible outcomes of responding to it.
“Willa, I ain’t never eaten Pop-Tarts,” Cricket said in an awestruck voice. “It says these are strawberry. I bet they’re good.”
Poor little hillbilly. In the three years she’d been here, she’d never had an actual conversation with Cricket’s father. Willa hated clichés, but the man could best be described as the village idiot. Or maybe the village drunk. Or the village drunken idiot. It was a miracle Cricket was as normal as he was, considering the absence of any meaningful parenting. If the man wasn’t lounging on his front porch completely inebriated, he was off wandering in the woods, leaving Cricket to fend for himself. What kind of monster denied a kid Pop-Tarts when they were easily found in any grocery store before Chicksy?
Cricket tore into one of the bright blue boxes and withdrew a foil-wrapped pouch.
“Let me see it first,” she said. “It might be poisoned.”
“Why would it be poisoned? Whoever left this box is trying to help. It says on the note that he’s a friend.”
Willadean rolled her eyes. “You’re so gullible. It looks okay, though. The wrapping is intact.”
Cricket tore it open and began wolfing down bites of frosted pastry before anyone could stop him. Willadean and Harlan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching and waiting for any visible effects of poison.
Minutes passed.
Harlan signed: I think it’s okay. Willadean nodded in agreement.
For the next fifteen minutes, the three gorged on Pop-Tarts. Nothing this delicious had been included in the cargo of the U-Haul truck Mama had loaded up before leaving Knoxville. They would definitely keep their drone-flying benefactor a secret. Few Pop-Tarts still existed in the world, so the value of the box’s contents far outweighed doubloons or pearls. She began searching for two large rocks.
“What are you thinking, Willa?” asked Cricket, his perpetually dirty face smeared with crumbs and red jelly.
“I’m going to leave the rocks. I’ll leave a note, too...the next time. I didn’t bring any paper with me today.”
“What’re you gonna say in the note?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m definitely going to ask for sweets, though. If this guy has Pop-Tarts and mac and cheese, I bet he has candy too.”
Cricket’s brown eyes widened to saucer-like proportions at the notion of candy. The next moment, the corners of his mouth turned down.
“If your mama finds out, we’re gonna be in a heap of trouble.”
Willa paused in her rock quest to gaze with narrowed eyes at her friend. “Mama won’t find out. I won’t tell her. Harlan won’t tell her. You swore a blood oath, Cricket. If you break it, you will die within a week. That’s how blood oaths work.”
“I ain’t gonna tell, but she could still find out. Your grandpappy knows things he shouldn’t be able to. He might already know about the Pop-Tarts. He might be telling her right now!”
“Calm your tits, Cricket. Pops is true-blue. He would never betray me.”
Harlan tapped her shoulder, then signed: He might if he thought we were in danger.
She shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”
It was Harlan’s turn to shrug. He would be on board with whatever Willa proposed.
“Cricket, help me with these rocks. Let’s pull some of these weeds so the rocks can be seen from the sky.”
For the next twenty minutes, they cleared the tall weeds from a section of the meadow the size of a carnival carousel. Nothing flew overhead during the task except a red-tailed hawk and a couple of sparrows. Afterward, it was time to find a place to stash the remaining food. Willa’s stomach was too full of Pop-Tarts to eat the mac and cheese at the moment.
“If we had shovels, we could dig a hole and cover it up,” said Cricket.
“But we don’t, so we’ll stash it in these bushes for now.” She pushed aside a few spiny holly branches, revealing a void within the greenery that would serve nicely.
“What’ll keep the critters from getting into it?” Cricket said after the food had been stored. He may not be a genius,
