The Last Martin (14 page)

Saturday wakes up misty, with air thick like pea soup. Dad and I hop into the Suburban, plug Julia’s address into the GPS, and pull out onto Industrial Boulevard. “She’s seems like a right nice young girl, son.” “She is a right nice young girl.” Dad pauses. “You know, we’ve never really had the chance to, well — we’ve never directly spoken about nice young girls. I mean, I saw how you
were
and always reckoned I’d have a bit more time, but seeing how you
are,
I’m thinking this may be as good a time as any.”
Not the Talk.

“Could we not talk about this right now?”

“You need to know about the changes that come over a boy about your age. It’s my job to —”

“You know, you’re right. We should have that talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Because I have lots of questions,” I say.

“You do?”

I nod. “But it will take a while to gather my thoughts. Can you give me a couple months?”

“A lot of mischief can happen in a couple months. Why, your mother —”

“Stop! That’s just disgusting.” I shake thoughts of Mom and Dad from my head. “I just need gathering time.”

Dad quiets, turns toward me, and lays his heavy hand on my shoulder. “If you say so. A few months it is.”

I’m thankful I’ll never have to endure the Talk.

We reach Julia’s place. Lucy comes out and meets Dad. At first, they’re distant, like two circling dogs who don’t trust each other. But soon, suspicious sniffing turns to laughing and Lucy lets Julia hop in back.

Dad writes down his cell number and hands it to Lucy. “I’ll have her home by supper.”

“Julia, take my cell. And Mr. Boyle, you’ll be with the children?”

“I’ll be on the farm the entire time.” Dad closes Julia’s door.

“Wait!” Julia pushes back out and disappears inside the house. She reappears holding a sketchpad, races toward us, and hops back inside.

“It’s my latest
White Knight
drawing. I drew it last night. You can’t look at it now, with me here.” She sets it on the seat. “Tonight when you get home, okay?”

I nod, Lucy waves, and we back down the driveway. Wilderness, here we come.

The trip goes quickly. Dad entertains us with stories of blowing people up at Fort Snelling. Julia laughs and giggles like I’ve never seen her laugh and giggle.

“So, Dad.” I lean into his shoulder. “How long until we get —”

“There’s nothing like the scent of gunpowder after a man repels a ferocious attack.” He peeks at his audience in the rearview.

I interrupt. “Do you think Landis will be ho —”

“Last year, we were surrounded on all sides. British. Indian tribes. We brought out the big guns,” says Dad.

Giggle-giggle-gasp from the backseat.

“You know, a few years back I watched Charley blow up firecrackers,” I offer.

Dad continues, “Body parts flying, guts oozing.”

“Technically,” I say, “those firecrackers are illegal in Minnesota. Pretty intense!”

Dad puffs up. “I let loose from the battery, and their lead man’s head flew right off!”

Laugh, laugh, laugh. Julia’s doubled over.

I lose.

We jerk right and slosh through Landis’s mud driveway. Dad fishtails to a stop in front of the farmhouse.

Landis smashes out the front door, rifle in hand.

“Who done come onto my — Brother! Here’s a surprise. Shoot. You bring the rest of the brood?”

“Half a brood,” he calls. “I have Martin, and Martin has a friend. This is Julia.”

“I’ll be. Marty has a friend indeed. You know Marty, I remember when you was …” He lifts his hand to his waist. “… yea high. Now you done found yourself a lady friend.” He looks at Dad. “Time flies, does it not?”

“It does indeed.”

“Where’s my manners? Step inside.” He waves toward the door. “Jenny’s ‘bout to skin a rabbit for some stew. Bugger’s still kickin'. If you like, I’ll hack off the foot. It’d make a lucky gift for your somebody, Martin.”

“Uncle Landis, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to go four-wheeling.”

He points his rifle toward the shed. “You know where I keep the equipment. Keys’re inside. Have at it.”

I flash Julia a weak smile. If I don’t scare her away, somebody in this family sure will.

She runs toward the shed and shoves open the door. “Polaris! Awesome.” Julia hops on the red one. The engine snarls and roars. “Race you, Marty!” She cranks
it in reverse, spins a neat backward circle, and explodes out into the mud.

I cough and chew my nails and stare at the three green ATVs. “Race you, huh? Okay.” I approach the nearest one. “Hello, loud, fast machine. I’m Martin.” I gently lift my leg over. “Remember, right now I can’t die. So go easy.”

I turn the key and my engine fires. I double-fist the stick. “P for Park. R for Reverse.” I yank the stick and flutter the gas. The ATV jerks backward. “Whoa. Easy boy.” I slowly back out of the shed. “D-Drive.”

“Can’t die. Can’t die.” Gas! I fly forward. My feet fly up and catch beneath the handlebars. The machine slows, and I stare at the little thumb switch thing.

Slap!

“Ow!” I grab at the back of my head as Julia flies by me. She’s lapped me and slapped me. Not acceptable.

I have a thumb war with the handle grip, take a deep breath, and squeeze.

“Cripes!” Twenty, then thirty miles per hour. I bounce and slosh and mud splats on my glasses.

“Yee-haw!”

My holler and my smile come from nowhere, and I can’t stop either one. I wait for the wave of guilt that always comes after really big smiles, but there’s nothing— nothing but thick, wet, soupy, muddy screams I didn’t
know my throat could make.

I listen for Julia’s four-wheeler. Martin Boyle is ready to ride. Martin Boyle is ready to rumble. I zip up the hill and jerk to a stop.

Julia’s machine rests alone. She stands frozen in the cemetery, her eyes on the tombstones. I walk up beside her and together we stand in silence.

“I wouldn’t have lied to you. Do you see — “ “Shut up. Just shut up!” She runs out of the graveyard, runs down the hill, and out of sight.

I walk to my spot, the patch of earth next to my uncle. I lie down, my face in the dirt, and cry.

H
AVE YOU SEEN JULIA?” MY EYES STILL STING.

Jenny rocks in her chair and smiles. “She ran in, then ran out. She seemed quite upset both ways. Your dad and Landis are out looking for her. Oh!” Jenny stretches out her hand. “Come over here. Quick.”

I shuffle toward her and bend down. “You okay?”

She beams. “He’s kicking again. Here.” She grabs my wrist and presses my hand against her belly. “Feel that?”

Inside of my aunt, a boy kicks hard, and my hand jerks away. “It’s okay.” Jenny gentles it back. “In a few weeks, you’ll be spending a lot of time with this tyke. Oh! Did you feel that? Your cousin wants to play with you.”

He wants to kill me.

I gulp. My cousin. He pushes and kicks and jumps inside my aunt. He’s getting ready for life, growing
stronger by the day. My knees weaken.

I pull my hand away and offer a weak smile. “That’s uh … that’s something.”

Aunt Jenny rubs her stomach and starts to hum. I need to get out of here.

The screen door bangs open.

“We bagged the girl.” Landis strides in and places his gun on the rack.

“You were hunting her?” Thoughts of Martin the deer fill my head.

He laughs. “No. Just habit. Never know when I might come across dinner for my Jenny and my great big beautiful boy!”

I back out the door. Dad stands by our Suburban, his forehead furled. Julia sits in the backseat, her head in her hands.

“Do you have any idea what happened, Martin?”

I don’t answer.

Dad exhales and reaches his arm around me. His voice softens. “Okay.”

I slip in the front seat.

Julia sniffs and rocks, and I don’t know what to say.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers. “It’s not fair. Why did you write me that stupid story? Why did you ever start talking to me? I never asked to know you.”

“Sorry,” I say.

Dad hops in and we drive home in silence. We drop
her off and she exits without a word. Dad glances over at me. “You didn’t do anything to her, did you?”

My head thuds against the window. “More than you know.”

“Psst. Martin.”

Lani steps into Dad’s office. It’s midnight on Sunday, a school night, which means the Barn Owl wants us both in bed.

“Stealing more passwords?”

I grin and set down my pencil.

“I heard Dad talking to Mom.” She quietly closes the French doors and sits down. “What happened with Julia?”

I look at her and sigh. I’ve never liked Lani. She’s been a little sister, which by definition means she’s an irritant. Something between a gnat and a mosquito. But for the second time in a few days, I wish I’d spent more time with her. She doesn’t steal my stuff or sneak into my room. Lani wouldn’t make the sister hall of fame, but she’s pretty okay.

“Nothing happened.” I drop my gaze. “Except it sounds like I got Mom and Dad talking. You know, whatever happens, I think you’ve been an adequate sister.”

“Now you’re scaring me.” She stands up to leave and pauses at the door. “I guess you’re adequate too. But don’t think I’m going to get all blubbery or make you cookies or do your chores just because you called me adequate.” Lani scurries out of the room and up the stairs. “It’s not even much of a compliment,” she yells down. “Sort of between okay and acceptable, and neither of those is magnificent. Now that would have been a compliment — magnificent. Lani the Magnifi …”

I sigh again and nestle into Dad’s big chair. “Okay, where was I …
A murder in Aurel. The knight and Alia on the way to the funeral.

It was a silent procession toward the kingdom of Aurel. Alia grew increasingly nervous as the royal cemetery came into view.

“Lonelyn. Where are the mourners? Is there nobody to weep?”

“Nobody, save this detachment, knows of the murders. The news would lead to chaos. Had we not found you, our enemies would certainly have attacked our leaderless kingdom.”

Alia nodded and rode beneath the iron arch. The White Knight galloped to her side.

“Do not dismount,” he whispered.

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Can you not feel it? The darkness of this place?”

“Of course. A great evil has been done.”

The knight’s horse reared and calmed. “Yes, but this evil feels familiar.”

“We are here to mourn the passing of the king and queen,” a cloaked man called from the opposite end of the cemetery. “And to witness the passing of the White Knight!”

The cloak fluttered to the ground and the Black Knight laughed. “Seize them.”

“A trap.” The White Knight slapped the rear of Alia’s horse. “Ride! I

The two thundered between the tombstones, twenty riders close behind.

“When we reach the river, veer south, I shall head north. Farewell, Alia.”

“No, you are beyond cruel! It would be better for me had you left me safe in the stone. How can you free me only to abandon me?”

“I don’t want this. But it will be better for you. The Black Knight will not stop searching for me. You must believe —”

The White Knight gave Alia’s horse a kick, and it galloped into the southern woods. The knight splashed into the shallows, faced downstream, and rode until his horse could push no more. He dismounted and walked until he reached a hut of straw and mud.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

The knight entered and collapsed. The pain in his thigh had worked its way to the hip.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want to live alone.” He rubbed his side. “Why is this happening to me?”

“Then fight your enemy, you fool!” From the corner, a small voice, old and brittle. “Who goes there?” The knight drew his sword. “Oh, just put that down.” An old man with tattered clothes struggled to stand. “You want to live. Then do it, man. Fight.” The knight stepped toward him. “I can’t beat this enemy.” “You are afraid to try.”

The words pierced his armor; he knew them to be true. “I am afraid to fail.” His hip throbbed. “If you knew what ailed me — “ “What about the woman?”

The White Knight straighten ed. “How do you know of her?”

“It’s always a woman. Doesn’t she deserve more from her knight?”

Alia deserves it. I deserve it. The knight struggled to stand. “She does, indeed.” “Remember young man, words have power.”

I throw down my pencil. “Poole, get out of my story.” I reread the page. I remember Julia. For her, for me, I want to fight. I want to live.