Wonderland Creek by Lynn Austin Page B

yesterday ’cause we didn’t behave,” the oldest boy told me somberly. He pointed to the woman who I assumed was Mamaw. She was barefooted, too. “But she said we could come today.”
    “Never did see kids get into as much trouble as these young ones,” Mamaw said, shaking her head. “But like Little Lloyd says, they been minding themselves all morning so I brung them here for the story.” She moved past me to follow the boys inside. I closed the door and hurried after them, afraid they would disturb Mack and Lillie. I found the group gathered around the mattress, gazing down at Mack in his bloody overalls as if looking at an exotic animal in the Lincoln Park Zoo.
    “All that blood come from him?” one of them asked. His brother nudged him.
    “’Course it did, stupid. He got shot with a gun, remember? Ma said so.”
    “Is he going to die, Miss Lillie?”
    “He might,” she said matter-of-factly. “Too soon to tell.”
    “Who’s going to read the story to us if he dies? Mamaw can’t read.”
    I glanced at Mamaw and she lifted her palms, sadly shaking her head. I heard a moan as Mack shifted positions and opened one eye. He closed it again and said, “Hey, boys. Missed you yesterday. You fellas been acting up again?”
    “It was Bobby’s fault. He’s the one who caught the cat.”
    “Yeah, but Clyde dared me.”
    “Did not! Lloyd did!”
    I recognized the names—these must be Faye’s boys. They were raggedy little urchins scarcely old enough for school, but they looked as wise and battle worn as old men. The youngest one, about three years old, already mimicked the swagger and toughness of his older brothers.
    “We don’t need to know the gory details,” Lillie told them. “Just as well you didn’t come yesterday. Mack here has been under the weather.”
    “He shot himself, didn’t he?”
    “Let that be a lesson to you,” Lillie said, shaking her withered finger. “Don’t you go fooling with your daddy’s rifle again—you hear me, Clyde?”
    “What about the story?”
    “And the pirates?”
    “Maybe Miss Ripley will read to you today.”
    “That yellow-haired lady?” Little Lloyd pointed to me. “Can she read?”
    “Yes, of course I can—” Before I could say more, they plopped down in a tidy row on the floor in front of me, oldest to youngest, and gazed up at me expectantly.
    “ Treasure Island ,” Mack murmured. “The book’s in my top desk drawer.” He smiled at me, and for the first time since I’d met him, I felt like smiling back. Mamaw pulled up two chairs from the library table, one for each of us, while I fetched the book.
    My audience sat completely spellbound as I read, the way kids back home would sit in front of the radio for hours listening to Buck Rogers or The Lone Ranger . When I finished the chapter, Mamaw poked my arm with her elbow and smiled. She didn’t have any teeth. “Then what happened?” she asked.
    I read the next chapter, and I had never felt happier being a librarian than I did in that moment. We were all engrossed in the story when we heard a sound outside. It took me a moment to recognize it as a car engine. Bobby jumped up and peered out the front window. “Holy cow, it’s the sheriff!” Before I could move, all four boys scrambled to their feet and scurried out of the library like rabbits disappearing into the underbrush. Mamaw followed them.
    I looked over at Lillie who was now wide awake. “Don’t you say a word, honey.” We heard boots tromping up the steps, the door squealing open, footsteps in the hallway. A mountain-sized man in a tan uniform halted in the doorway to the non-fiction section, looking all around. He removed his hat to reveal graying black hair and a receding hairline. Lillie acted as wary as a cat with a big dog sniffing around. I could see their mutual distrust and wondered what was behind it. I was quite sure he hadn’t come in to check out a book.
    “Afternoon, Miss Lillie.” He nodded