Ghost Cave by Barbara Steiner Read Free Book Online Page B

go without us. I’m going to visit Mama. We can go day after tomorrow.”
    â€œOkay. Anything wrong? I thought you always visited on Sunday.”
    â€œNo, Dad’s just in the mood. I’ll call when I get back.” Marc hung up, walked back through the living room without his dad’s saying anything, and went to his room.
    They set out early the next morning. It was another sunny day. Marc itched to be on his bike, heading for the cave. Then he felt guilty for the thought. Mama was going to be happy to see them before Sunday. Bluedog and Marc sat and looked out the window, and he tried to forget the cave.
    Mama squealed when she saw them, and a big smile came over her face. It was worth postponing exploring the cave. Marc ran to hug her. Every time he saw her, she looked smaller. She had been sitting on the porch at the sanatorium with her back to the sun, rocking as if that was all the day held for her. She didn’t even have the knitting she usually had in her lap.
    â€œMy lands, Marc. You’re growing so fast!” She tousled his hair and patted Bluedog, who wiggled all over at her touch.
    â€œHi, Mama. Surprised to see us?” Marc asked, as he and Bluedog sat on the steps at her feet.
    â€œI sure am. Norman, why didn’t you tell me you were coming early this week?” She turned her cheek up for his father’s kiss.
    Visiting Mama was the only time Marc’s dad looked and acted normal. He smiled. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”
    â€œShouldn’t you be working?” she asked, half scolding.
    â€œThe work will wait. I’ve got clients coming out of my ears. They’ll call or come back, and I’ll work all day Saturday.”
    Saturday was usually a half workday. His father stayed open for the farmers and people who couldn’t get in during the week. Marc listened to his dad lie to his mother. But Marc would never tell her the truth himself. He didn’t want to worry her.
    â€œWhat are you doing now that school is out, Marc?” Mama asked, taking her son’s hand in hers. Even her hands were tiny. Marc’s hand looked like a man’s hand in hers.
    â€œOh, not much. Riding my bike, messing around with Hermie and Eddie. They miss you, too. Mrs. Harrington doesn’t like us in her kitchen, and even Gramma Sparks’s cookies don’t hold up to yours. There’s a reward out for anyone finding Indian relics. We may poke around a bit, look for a grave everyone has missed.”
    â€œWell, if anyone can find it, you can, Marc. I wish I could be out there with you in the woods.” Mama looked like a little girl, the way she’d taken to wearing her blond hair in braids since she’d come to Boonville. Easy to care for, she’d said, when his dad asked her why.
    She looked tired every time they came, though, and her skin had gotten so pale. Marc had promised her he wouldn’t worry about her, but it was hard to keep that promise. What he could do was not let her know he worried.
    â€œI’ll go say hi to Mr. Clearwater,” Marc said, after they had visited for a while. They never stayed too long, and Marc knew his parents needed a little time to themselves. “Stay here, Bluedog. Be a good girl.” He watched until she curled up under the steps.
    Roy Clearwater was a full-blooded Osage. On good days he could remember some things about his childhood, or he’d tell Marc legends about the Osage Indian tribes, and how they came to settle in Arkansas. He said if he had any living relatives they were in Oklahoma now, on the reservation there, but his stories were about the past. The Osage had lived north of the Arkansas River and were a very warlike tribe. They had come into the area hunting buffalo and stayed because there were plenty of game animals. Marc figured any arrowheads he found in the woods were Osage, and most relics he and his dad had were from the Osage tribes.
    When