The Dark Secret of Weatherend (14 page)

Anthony realized instantly that Miss Eells was right. They stood in the ankle-deep snow on the side of the empty, dark road and waited. Several long, dragging minutes passed. Miss Eells hung her head, and tears began to flow down her cheeks. "A-Anthony," she sobbed, "we... we're g-going to die! No one would be crazy enough to come out on a night like this. No..."

Miss Eells's voice trailed off. They stood dead still, listening. The sound of a motor rose above the roar of the wind. Now they saw headlights and a flashing yellow dome light. A bulky shadow materialized out of the gloom, and they could see what it was—a truck with a
snowplow on the front. As they watched, the big curved yellow blade shot a plume of snow off to the right. Anthony jumped up and down and yelled. As the truck got nearer, the roar of its motor was deafening. The two travelers started to get out of the way, but the truck began to slow, and then it stopped. A window rolled down, and a familiar long face appeared. It was Mr. Johnson.

"Hi there!" he called. "You folks need a ride?"

Miss Eells and Anthony looked at each other in utter astonishment. Then, with a joyful yell and a wave of her hand, Miss Eells started forward. She climbed up into the truck and slid over to make room for Anthony.
Slam
went the door. They were inside, in the warm cab that smelled of pipe smoke and grease. Mr. Johnson was there, in his coveralls, a parka, and—as usual—his baseball cap. His straw-colored hair stuck out from under the bill of his cap, and the expression on his face was calm, as if he was used to picking up stranded people on lonely roads during snowstorms.

"Your ride leave you in the lurch, did he?" he asked.

"Yes," said Miss Eells, grinning from ear to ear. "We're
so
happy to see you! What on
earth
are you doing up in this neck of the woods?"

Mr. Johnson shrugged. "I was jist goin' t' plow some back roads. It's a long ways from Eau Claire, but I got friends up here, an' if I don't plow the roads for 'em, chances are nobody will. After I get finished with the plowin', I'm gonna go on up to Superior, to my sister's
place, an' get a cuppa coffee. I heard you say you were goin' to Duluth. I c'n take you as far as Superior once I get done with my plowin'. How'd that be?"

Anthony's heart leaped. He had been looking at the road map in Miss Eells's car, and he knew that Superior, Wisconsin, was right next to Duluth. "How... how far are we from Superior?" he asked excitedly.

"Only jist a coupla miles, er, maybe three," said Mr. Johnson, pointing at the dark windshield.

For the last minute or so Miss Eells had been silent. But her mind was working furiously. Finally she spoke. "Mr. Johnson, we
have
to get to Duluth! We simply have to! We have a terrible emergency. I'm the sister of a nun who's up at St. Scholastica's College. She's dying, and I have to be with her. If you'll forget about your plowing and drive us straight up to St. Scholastica's, I'll give you a check for a hundred dollars. Will you do this for us?
Please?"

Anthony held his breath. Would Mr. Johnson ever believe this tale?

For about half a minute, Mr. Johnson said nothing. He rubbed his chin and stared at the two of them. Then his eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a hard thin line. "That guy that picked you up at my garage—was he your brother?" he asked.

Miss Eells hesitated a second. Then, with an odd half-smile on her face, she said, "Yes, he was. Why?"

Mr. Johnson looked indignant. "Well, if that's the case, he's a real louse!" Mr. Johnson heaved a disgusted
sigh and threw the truck into gear. It began to move forward down the road. "Look, lady," he said, "I dunno what's goin' on in your family, an' I don't wanta know. But I'm gonna take you up there to that college tonight, an' you can pay me what you feel like payin' me. Jist sit back 'n' enjoy the ride!"

Miss Eells and Anthony were ecstatic. According to what Miss Eells had said earlier, the college was near their destination, St. Boniface's Cemetery. Soon they would be there.

As the truck raced down the road Mr. Johnson sang "Yon Yonson" and offered them a Thermos full of hot coffee. As they drank the hot liquid Anthony reached out and turned on the radio. Through the waves of static they heard a frightened announcer talking about the wild storm that had come roaring north from the region around Hoosac. He told of strange glaring lights that had appeared in the sky and of rumblings deep down in the earth. People were panicking, and the National Guard had been called out to keep order in some towns. Although the announcer continued in his trembly, nervous voice, Miss Eells had heard enough; she leaned over and switched the radio off.

They rode on in silence. Outside the windows of the truck the snow swirled as flakes danced madly through the headlight beams. Far ahead was St. Boniface's Cemetery, and Anthony could not help but wonder what would be waiting for them there. Finally they saw the Duluth city-limits sign. In the dead of winter Duluth
looked like a frozen, run-down San Francisco with its steep hills rising above the ice-locked harbor. They were riding down the main business street of the city, but there was no traffic at all. The streetlights burned brightly, and the cars parked along the curb looked like white, snowy humps. Mr. Johnson forced the truck forward, sending jets of snow over the already buried cars. "Snow's changed," he muttered. "Gettin' wetter. Windshield's icin' up."

"Oh, great," said Miss Eells. "Look, Mr. Johnson, we have to get up to the college as soon as we can. How far is it?"

Mr. Johnson pointed off to the left, toward the steep streets that ran up into the hills. "It's up there somewhere. Not sure which street's the best one t' take. So I guess we might's well try this one that's next. Hang on, everybody!"

Mr. Johnson braked at the intersection and paused. The street had been plowed recently, but it was covered with a white, slick, sparkling layer, and the truck swerved as it started up the hill. It went a few yards, but then it stalled. Mr. Johnson jammed down the accelerator, and the engine raced. From beneath the truck came a loud, futile whining. The wheels spun madly, and then slowly the tow truck began to roll backward. Swerving from side to side, it went careening back down through the intersection, leaped a curb, and with a loud reverberating boom flattened a mailbox and came to a halt against the side of an office building.

Anthony checked his arms and legs—to his surprise he was not hurt. Then Mr. Johnson spoke.

"That was dumb of me!" He groaned. "I shoulda had my brakes checked! Boy, was I dumb!"

Miss Eells wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. "I think I've read this script before," she said sourly. "Between your bad brakes and my half-bald, chainless tires we make a great pair. I think we're all lucky to be alive."

Anthony looked out at the snowy, windy night and saw a traffic light swaying wildly on its thick, black wire. Snow gusted around the dark buildings. All the stores were closed up, and there was no one to be seen anywhere. Anthony's heart sank. How were they ever
going to get to the cemetery now? He wondered if Borkman had iced the streets just to keep them from getting there.

Miss Eells started to talk, but her voice trailed off. She had seen and heard something outside. Now Anthony and Mr. Johnson heard it, a rising roar. Into the deserted intersection crawled a U. S. Army weapons carrier, a strange-looking contraption that was made to move around in the worst possible weather. It had been repainted in the blue and white colors of the Duluth Police Department, and it looked like a tank with its top half sawed off. Instead of wheels it had a rotating cleated belt, and in the driver's seat was a policeman wearing a helmet and goggles. As they watched, the weapons carrier turned slightly and began crawling toward them. It stopped in front of the truck, and the policeman vaulted down from his seat.

"Uh, oh. Now we're gonna get it!" said Mr. Johnson as he rolled his window down.

The policeman stopped below the window and glared up. In his gloved hands were a pencil and a ticket pad. "Gonna hafta ticket ya, friend!" he growled. "Know it's bad weather, but ya still shoulda had more control over yer vee-hickle. Yer from Wisconsin. What're you'n yer truck doin' around here, anyway? They call you in to help plow the streets?"

Mr. Johnson was just about to answer, when Miss Eells cut in quickly. "Officer, this gentleman was on an errand of mercy. You see, our car broke down on
the way to Duluth, and he gave us a ride. We'd have frozen to death out in the wilderness if it hadn't been for him."

The policeman looked at Miss Eells. His eyes were hidden by the shiny polarized goggles, but his mouth was curved into a skeptical scowl. "Oh, yeah? Well, that was real nice of him, wasn't it? And may I ask where the heck
you
were goin' in this storm?"

Miss Eells struggled to keep her self-control. "Officer," she said in a polite, sugary voice, "I am the sister of one of the nuns at St. Scholastica's College. She is dying, and I want to be with her. My nephew and I have been invited to spend the night at the college. Mr. Johnson was trying to take us there when his truck had an accident. Do you suppose you could take us?"

Anthony gave Miss Eells an amused sidelong glance. He had seen her do her imitation of a sweet, helpless little old lady before and always enjoyed it. But would the cop fall for her line?

The policeman took off his helmet. He did not look quite so grim and forbidding without it. "Look, lady," he said almost apologetically now, "we're in the middle of one of the weirdest storms I ever saw in my life. People're scared half outa their wits, and I don't blame 'em. I hafta go up and down Main Street in this thing here and make sure that cars get moved an' stores don't get broke into. St. Scholastica's is way up that way. How'm I gonna patrol down here an' take you up there, huh?"

Miss Eells gave the cop her most pleading, round-eyed gaze. "Officer, it really is terribly important. We haven't got
any
other way of getting there, and I'm sure that by now the sisters are
frantic
with worry! Please, please help us!"

The cop turned his helmet over in his hands and stared at his boots. Finally, with a deep, weary sigh, he jammed the helmet back onto his head and motioned for the three travelers to get out of the truck. "Okay, okay! I'll take you! But move it, will ya? I ain't got all night. I gotta get back on patrol."

Miss Eells was delighted—she had won this round at any rate. Anthony scrambled out of the truck, clinging tightly to his tool bag, and she slid out after him. They both rushed over to the weapons carrier and climbed in. Mr. Johnson came loping across the snow after them. "Guess this is where we say good-bye," he drawled. "I'm gonna get a room at the Hotel Duluth for the night. No sense in tryin' to get back to my sister's place in all this snow. Tomorrow mornin' I'm gonna see about gettin' this crate o' mine off that sidewalk."

"You're gonna see about it earlier'n that!" said the cop irritably. "When you get to the hotel, call up a towin' service and then meet me back here in... oh, I'd say about twenty minutes to a half an hour. We'll get the old heap movin' some way."

"Good-bye, Mr. Johnson," Miss Eells called out, and she waved and smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much for everything!"

"Yeah, good-bye," said Anthony, and he waved too. "You were a real good friend to us, Mr. Johnson! Thanks a lot!"

Mr. Johnson grinned in his dopey way and ambled off into the darkness. The cop clambered up into the cockpit of the weapons carrier and started the engine. With a clattering of gears the heavy tanklike vehicle began to move up the steep, icy streets. No one was outside, though the streetlights burned brightly and many windows glowed yellow in the dark. The wind whipped around the weapons carrier, and it stung Anthony's face. But the snow had let up. Anthony wondered if Borkman's magic had run out of steam. Or was it possible that he and Miss Eells were wrong—was this just a natural storm that had nothing to do with Anders Borkman and the four weird statues?

The weapons carrier crawled up more ice-coated streets toward the highest hill above the town, where St. Scholastica's College is located. Looming out of the darkness Anthony saw big stone buildings with iron crosses perched on snow-covered roofs. The tall tower of a church rose into the dark sky. The vehicle rattled up a long, curving drive and stopped in front of a small pillared porch. Inside the vaulted roof a wrought-iron lantern with yellow glass panes hung, casting a pool of light over the snowy sidewalk. Anthony's heart beat faster. If somebody came out to see who was at the door, the cop would discover that Miss Eells had been lying to him. He glanced quickly at his friend and saw
that her face was perfectly calm and composed. What a great poker player Miss Eells would have made.

"Well, here y'are," said the cop grumpily. "Don't say I never did anything for ya."

Anthony swung himself over the side of the weapons carrier. Nimbly he picked his way down the iron rungs and jumped off onto the ground with Miss Eells following, more slowly. Leaning down, the cop handed the tool bag to Anthony.

"Whatcha got in there, anyway?" the cop asked with a grin. "Scrap iron? Old horse collars?"

Miss Eells was flustered, but she managed to make a reply. "It's... it's a couple of holy statues and a sick-call kit that used to belong to my late brother, who was a priest. We wanted to use them when Father Flaherty administers the last rites to my sister. We... we had some trouble packing them on top of our clothes. They do make a noise, don't they?"