End of the Line
When Frank
and I stepped through the post office doors, there was a crowd gathered,
gawking at the new fixture on the wall like a chorus of wide-mouthed frogs. I
had to get closer, and that was where being a girl that's scrawnier than a wire
fence came in handy. Fortunately, Frank, my twin of eleven years, was just the
same.
"Come on." I said, grabbing his hand, and we slid through the cracks
between people until we spilled out in front.
Finally I got a good look. It was fixed to the plaster next to the postmaster's
window, the place of honor usually reserved for the Wanted posters. Beady-eyed
Zedekiah Smith, the bank robber, still hung there, but even he had been pushed
aside for something more important.
A telephone. The first one in town.
"How's it work?" Noah Crawford called out. Noah's the best fix-it man
around, and I could tell he was itching to get his fingers on those shiny
knobs.
"Don't rightly know," answered the postmaster, and he tugged at his
goatee as if it might tell him. "I do know the sound of your voice moves
along wires strung on poles. It's sort of like the telegraph, only you hear
words instead of dots and dashes."
"Ah," the crowd murmured, and I felt my own mouth move along.
I gazed at that gleaming wood box and something happened inside me. Something —
I can only guess — that might be like falling in love. The thought of talking
into that box — of making my voice sail through wires in the sky — it took over
my brain. I couldn't get it out.
"Frank," I whispered to my twin. "I have to use that
telephone."
Five minutes later, Frank towed me up Main Street, toward home. "Liza —
" he began, but I cut him off. We two thought so much alike, I had Frank's
questions answered before he even asked.
"You're right," I said. "It costs five cents and I don't have
it. But look." I pulled him over to the window of Poulson's Variety Store.
"You see those?"
I pointed to a handful of shimmery rocks spread on black velvet. Some were a
shiny gray shot through with gold streaks, others yellow as cheese curds. And
one, clear and jagged, sat like an icicle, leftover from wintertime.
Frank's eyebrows screwed up and I could tell he wasn't following.
"If I found one of those, I bet they'd pay me for it." I explained.
With a shake of his head, Frank hooked two thumbs under his suspenders.
"But Liza — "
I held up a hand — he couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know.
"I've got that figured, too. I'll bet we could find some at North Creek —
in the mine."
Frank shrugged, pretending not to care, but I knew better. He wanted to explore
that old mine, same as me. Besides, Frank knew he had no choice. Twins stick
together, especially scrawny ones, 'cause it takes two of us to make one of
most people.
We spent half the morning on the dusty road to North Creek. Ma packed a lunch
but said she couldn't understand walking all that way for rocks. She thought we
were off to search the dry creek bed, and I didn't correct her.
I felt a bit guilty about fooling my ma, but whenever a pang hit, I conjured up
the vision of my voice dancing along wires in the sky. It looked a lot like me,
my voice did, only wearing a pink tutu and carrying a frilly umbrella.
We reached the old mine around noon. The hole in the sage-covered hill had been
shored up by timbers. They were weathered and splintery, and looked like a
picture frame around nothing.
I stepped inside, my arms turning to goose bumps from the chill. The air
smelled of mildew and rotted beams, but also of horse sweat and wood smoke.
Strange. That mine had sat empty for years.
Once my eyes got used to the dim, I gazed around, hoping to see shimmery rocks
littering the floor, but dust was all I saw. Frank walked past me to where the
walls narrowed, then disappeared around the curve. I followed fast.
I'd come up right behind Frank when, ting, his boot connected with
metal. He stooped, grabbed, and when he stood, his palm held more than we'd
hoped.
A gold coin. Frank's eyes nearly popped.
"Where did that come from?" I whispered and reached out a finger to
touch.
Just then, voices sounded in the next cavern over: "Zed, hold it
higher." Two men stepped through a gap in the far wall.
They weren't miners. I could tell that from one glance. They were dressed for
riding, with leather chaps and spurs. One held saddlebags over a shoulder and
had a mustache that hung past his jaw. The other wore a battered hat, his face
hid in its shadow. When he raised his lantern, the light shone full on those
beady eyes.
It was Zedekiah Smith, the bank robber.
I plastered myself to the wall, hoping to disappear into shadow. Frank hunched
over, hiding his head in his sleeves. But for once, we weren't scrawny enough.
"Hey!" The mustached man pointed, then dropped his saddlebags and ran
for us.
I tried to run, too, but met up with Frank's backside. The next thing I knew,
Frank and I were on the ground, being hauled to our feet by a sharp-nailed
hand.
"Lookee here, Zed," our captor cried, "a couple of spies."
"No," I said, brushing myself off. "We're not spies. We were
looking for rocks to sell. There's a new telephone in town, and I just wanted
to — Ow!"
The mustache man yanked my hair. "Does she always talk this much?" he
asked Frank. Frank — the traitor — nodded.
"Looking for rocks, eh?" Mustache Man pried open Frank's fingers. The
gold coin glowed warm in the lantern light. "Lookee here, Zed. Musta
fallen out."
Zedekiah Smith strode over and picked the coin out of Frank's palm. "You
don't want that, boy. That's dirty money."
"You made it that way," I told him. "You stole it."
Zedekiah Smith narrowed his eyes, turning them even beadier. "Caleb's
right. You do talk a lot."
Five minutes later, Frank and I were back to back on the ground.
"That's what you get," Caleb said, as he tied our hands behind us.
"Shouldn't go poking your noses in bad places."
"It wouldn't be bad without you," I said, and Frank twitched.
"Sure it would," Caleb said. "Old mine's a dangerous place. You
could've got caught in a cave-in, or bit by rattlers. Lucky you got us instead.
He, he!" He tightened his knots then stood straight. "Someone will
find you in a day or so. We'll be long gone by then. Right Zed?"
"That's right." Zedekiah Smith stood back, watching Caleb do the
dirty work, his eyes shaded again.
"Just let us go," I begged. "We won't tell."
"Ha!" Caleb shouldered the saddlebags. "I'd like to see you keep
your mouth still."
Zedekiah Smith took up the lantern and without looking back they passed through
the opening in the rock wall. I listened until the jingle of their spurs faded.
We were alone in dark so thick it stopped up my nose. Caleb was right. This was
a bad place. I wouldn't last a day. And worse, when Ma found my lifeless body,
she'd know I was a liar.
I was about to sink into despair, but Frank distracted me with more twitching.
"There," he said. "I'm free."
I couldn't believe it when the ropes went slack. Jumping to my feet, I rubbed
my wrists, trying to figure how Frank had managed to surprise me so. It wasn't
that he'd worked his bony wrists out of Caleb's knots. That was plain Frank.
The real surprise was that he'd come up with the idea without my help.
"Phew," I said, relief washing over me at my second chance at life.
Ma wouldn't have to find my lifeless body after all. And as for the liar part,
well, I'd work on that.
But first, I had another good deed in mind, the best way to begin my new life.
I was about to turn in that outlaw.
I grabbed Frank's arm and towed him toward the exit. "We need to get to
town and report Zedekiah Smith." Then something else occurred to me.
"Think of the telephone calls I could make with that reward money."
'Liza — " Frank started up, but I knew where he was heading.
"Of course we'll split it."
We rounded the wall and ran smack into another, one with chaps and a hat.
Zedekiah Smith was back. Before we could move, he had us trussed in his arms
like two pigs for slaughter.
"Let go!" I cried, pounding his chest.
"Shh," he whispered. "Caleb thinks I forgot something."
I froze. "But . . . "
"I came back to cut you loose."
For once, I had a hard time filling my mouth with words.
"Now, you stay hidden until I get Caleb away," he whispered. "It
won't do to have him telling people about my weak stomach."
"Are you feeling poorly?" Frank asked and Zedekiah Smith laughed.
"No, but I've got no stomach for hurting people." His arms went limp,
releasing us, and he took a step back. "You'd better do your duty and
report me. But take this in case that reward money's long in coming." He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a pale yellow rock studded with
honey-colored crystals. "I saw it out in the dry creek bed. Might be worth
a telephone call."
He dropped it into my hand and gave a wink. Then he turned and walked out into
the sunlight. Frank and I gawked, like a duet of wide-mouthed frogs.
We didn't make it to the Sheriff's office until the next morning. I reported
Zedekiah Smith, just like I should, but for some reason, it didn't feel like a
good deed anymore.
Our next stop was the Variety Store. Old Mr. Poulson's eyes kindled when he saw
the crystal rock. Twenty-five cents went to Frank, who wasted it on candy. I
saved mine for something monumental.
The post office wasn't crowded anymore. Still, there were a few lookers as I
walked to the counter and laid down my nickel.
"I'd like to make a telephone call," I announced.
"How about that," the postmaster said, stroking his goatee.
"You'll be the first. Who would you like to call?"
"Who?" I echoed. And just like that, my vision dissolved. Pink tutu
and frilly umbrella, both drifted off like a dandelion in the wind. My voice
couldn't dance along wires — it had no place to go. Nobody I knew had a
telephone.
I turned to Frank and found him grinning.
"You saw it all along," I accused.
He shrugged. "I tried to tell you."
"You did?" I thought back to the day before and realized that maybe
he had. I'd been too busy using my own mouth to notice.
After taking one last, loving look at the telephone, I turned away from the
counter. Maybe candy would be a good use for that nickel after all.
"Frank," I said, pondering those thoughts he kept having without me,
"next time you have something to say, speak up. I'll try hard to
listen."
The poster of Zedekiah Smith seemed to nod at me as we passed.
