How Raspberry Jam Got Invented, Page 2

  Part Two: Mysteries at the State Park

  7. Another Fateful Decision

  The only thing I see inside the park is a big white truck far down the road, and it soon disappears around a curve. Otherwise the whole place looks empty – no cars in the parking lot, no people walking around.

  The white truck reminds me of the one ‘Captain Exterminator’ drives in the TV commercial. Actually, he doesn’t drive it. The truck just sits there while Captain Exterminator leaps before the camera wearing a Superman type outfit with a big E stitched on the front.

  “Don’t let those nasty pests ruin your life!” he shouts. “Whether it’s termites, roaches, or furry little rats, Captain Exterminator gets rid of them fast!”

  It’s got to be the dumbest ad on TV, even worse than the ones for used cars and pain killers. At least my grandpa believes so – Grandpa Searles, that is, my dad’s dad. My other grandpa is this strange Russian guy I hardly ever see.

  Anyway, Grandpa Searles doesn’t think much of TV in general.

  “Television!” he says. “What’s the world coming to? Why, back in my day ...”

  Then another lecture about how much better things were when he was a kid – back when people still rode around in horse-drawn buggies. Pretty boring, in my opinion.

  Tommy points at the sign. “See, Melissa, I told you the park was closed.”

  “Who cares?” Melissa says. “If it’s closed to everyone else, then there’s more room for us.”

  She looks toward me. “Right, Amanda?”

  “Yeah, right,” I say, trying to sound casual.

  Actually, I feel a bit creeped out. This place seems wrong somehow, as if something evil, or at least pretty weird, is lurking around out of sight. I’m not about to be the first to back down, though.

  “I think we’d better leave,” Tommy says.

  Melissa does her eye rolling routine again.

  “You boys don’t want to carry that basket home still full, do you?”

  Tommy and Quentin look down, embarrassed.

  “All right, then, let’s go in,” Quentin says.

  Still, nobody moves. I have the uneasy feeling that we are about to do something we’ll regret. But then Melissa takes a step forward, then Quentin. Then we are all moving.

  We walk around the chain barrier and into the park. Soon, we come to a deserted concession area with its vending machines – snacks, drinks, cigarettes.

  “Hey, I want to get something,” Quentin says.

  “What – a pack of cigarettes?” Melissa asks.

  “No!” Quentin answers sharply. “I want some gum.”

  It’s clear that Quentin is getting fed up with Melissa’s constant little digs. Why does she have to act like that all the time?

  Quentin drops some coins into the vending machine and studies the various selections carefully. At last, he yanks the handle for his chosen gum. We all stand around watching him, as if this is the most fascinating thing in the world. We don’t notice anybody approaching. Then a man’s voice says:

  “You kids should get out of here!”

  I practically jump out of my tennies. I turn to see a shabby bum type guy standing near us. Even Melissa is shocked into silence.

  “I mean it,” the man says. “Things ain’t right here.”

  He has this faraway look in his eyes, like his mind is someplace else.

  “W-what’s wrong?” Tommy asks.

  The bum looks at Tommy now, and his face softens. He doesn’t look scary any more.

  “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any extra change would you?” he asks.

  Tommy shakes his head.

  “I just put my last money into this machine,” Quentin says. “You can have a stick of gum if you like.”

  “Don’t care much for gum, thank you,” the bum says.

  I reach into the picnic basket and pull out two sandwiches and a bag of chips.

  “Here, take these,” I say. “You must be hungry.”

  His face brightens. “Why, thank you little girl!”

  He unwraps one of the sandwiches and begins chomping on it as if he hasn’t eaten in days. He walks toward the park gate, having forgotten us apparently.

  “Oh, what a crazy old coot!” Melissa says.

  “Yeah, there’s a guy who’s rowing with one oar,” Quentin says.

  I feel sorry for the man. I wonder if he lives out here in the park, camping by himself with no family or friends. How does he survive the winter?

  He is almost to the gate when he turns back toward us.

  “Remember what I said,” he calls.

  “Sure,” Melissa sneers back.

  Then the guy is gone.

  “Maybe he’s right,” Tommy says.

  “You’re not going to listen to that guy are you?” Melissa says. “He looks like he’s scared of his own shadow.”

  “He’s just trying to have some fun with us,” Quentin says. “His life must be pretty boring.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Tommy says.

  He doesn’t sound convinced, though. And neither am I, not 100%, anyway. But before I can voice my doubts, we are already moving.

  The whole park is quiet and eerie, as if it is holding its breath.

  “It’s stuffy out here,” Tommy remarks.

  Hot breeze rustling in the treetops is the only noise. Even our feet shuffling along the gravel road seem to make no sound. Here and there, a touch of red among the leaves warns of the coming autumn.

  For a of couple seconds, I think I hear the scrabbling sounds coming from the underbrush again, but I don’t say anything, however creepy it is.

  None of this bothers Melissa, though. She just walks along as if she owns the place. Tommy and Quentin are too busy muscling around their loads to worry about much else.

  8. Destination at Last

  Finally we arrive at the Willow Creek picnic area.

  “Cool!” Tommy and Quentin shout together.

  They dash to a picnic table and dump their loads on top of it. A large tree shades the table, and big a limb curves down to within several feet of the surface. Very cozy.

  In a flash, the boys have their yo-yos out and are running around doing tricks. You’d think they just got out of jail.

  “See, Amanda,” Melissa says. “We’ve found the perfect spot.”

  She does have a point. This is a lovely place, with lots of trees and underbrush mixed into the open, grassy area. Picnic tables are widely spaced and private, each one with its own cooking grill. My feelings of dread vanish. I feel proud that I’ve been brave and have said nothing about my silly fears.

  I hate to admit it, but Melissa must be right. I do have a ‘hearing things’ problem.

  A play area with swings and monkey bars stands off to the side. The ground there is covered with a carpet of red wood chips which sends a pleasant, outdoorsy scent our direction.

  “Smells good out here,” Melissa says.

  I must admit to feeling a bit woozy from the heat and from the long walk – thirsty, too. I sit on the picnic table bench and root around in the basket for the paper cups. A nice drink of lemonade is just what I need.

  From the corner of my eye, I see something strange – or at least I think I see it. The wood chips on the playground seem to move. I jerk my head around to look directly at the area; everything seems okay.

  Weird! I think.

  I pour myself a cup of lemonade and slug it down, keeping my eyes fixed on the playground. Instantly, I feel refreshed. The world snaps back into proper focus, all weirdness vanishes.

  “Ahhh ... I needed that!” I say.

  Melissa downs a cup of lemonade next.

  “Not bad,” she comments.

  She stands holding the empty cup; her other hand rests on her hip. She looks around the picnic area like a queen surveying her realm.

  Nearby, past a row of trees and down a steep bank, the creek is rushing by. It makes a cool, delightful sound.

  Tommy
and Quentin return and drop their yo-yos on the table. It’s their turn now to drink lemonade.

  “Hey, check out the monkey bars,” Quentin says between gulps, “I’ve got some new moves to show you.”

  Tommy looks off toward the playground. I expect him to charge out there and try to show up Quentin – Tommy is skilled at gymnastic type stuff.

  Instead he says: “Nah, I’m not in the mood for little kid stuff like that.”

  Quentin’s not going to let this pass! He’s going to insist on a monkey bar showdown, I’m sure. But he doesn’t, for some reason.

  “You’re right, Tommy,” he says, “let’s go swimming!”

  9. Swim Time

  The boys dash on ahead while Melissa and I follow. We all wear swimsuits under our clothes, so changing is just a matter of pulling off shorts, blue jeans, and T-shirts. We toss them onto the high bushes and head down the bank to the water.

  A small, sandy strip runs alongside the stream. Beyond this little beach, deep water swirls, dark and mysterious. Farther downstream, the water gets shallow again and bubbles around some large rocks. We hesitate. I drop my backpack off to the side.

  “This is pretty cold,” Tommy says, jabbing a toe into the current.

  “Yeah,” I say, “Who’s brave enough to go in first?”

  Suddenly, Quentin grabs me from behind under my armpits. Then Tommy grabs my ankles. They hoist me off the ground, swinging me between them like the human hammock.

  “Put me down!” I yell.

  “Sure thing!” Quentin says.

  They fling me out over the water. I’m in the air only a second or two, but it seems much longer as I hover between the sky and the swirling creek. Then, Wham! I hit the cold water hard.

  I feel panic as my head goes under and water enters my mouth. I thrash around desperately trying to swim. Finally I get my feet on the sloping creek bed and climb back to waist-deep water.

  “That was really stupid!” I shout.

  Quentin and Tommy roar with laughter.

  “We just wanted to find out who’s the bravest!” Quentin says.

  They go after Melissa next, but she will have none of it. She crouches into a fighting stance, like those women wrestlers on TV, and makes ready to do battle. Quentin suddenly decides that it would be more fun to push Tommy in the creek instead. So ...

  Splash! Tommy comes tumbling in next.

  Then Quentin takes a running leap.

  “Geronimo!” he yells.

  He hits the creek amid a great explosion of water.

  Finally Melissa enters, slow and dignified, like a princess stepping into her bubble bath.