Mississippi River Blues (7 page)

Tom's face was taken over by a frown. “I would have. Except for a secret thing I'm planning that's even better.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Never mind,” said Tom. “And don't go telling Joe and Huck you saw me here. Go ahead, promise.”

I backed up. “Whoa. Just don't make me sign anything in blood.”

“I won't. Just don't tell.”

I agreed, and we shook hands on it. Then we headed back to the island, which of course left me soaking wet again. It was morning by the time we strolled into the camp. Huck and Joe were showing Frankie how to make a slingshot from a thick tree branch and some vines. She was telling them about theme parks, but they weren't really getting it.

Huck and Joe and Frankie leaped up when they saw Tom, and explained that they were sick of the island and wanted to go home. Frankie was the loudest.

“We've done the island,” she said. “Backward, forward, up, down, there's no treasure. We're running out of pages—I mean, time. So let's go back to town already.”

But Tom insisted. “If we stay a few more days, something great will happen. Then, I promise, we'll leave.”

Joe shrugged, then agreed. Huck agreed.

Frankie crossed her arms and grumbled to herself.

So we stayed on the island until Sunday when, in the early hours of the morning, we rafted back to shore.

When the five of us trudged down the dusty main street, the village seemed hushed and still.

At that moment, the church bell began to toll—
dong! dong! dong!
—and the streets began to fill with people dressed in their best and darkest clothes.

“What is this all about?” asked Joe.

Tom held such a big grin on his face, the corners of his mouth almost met in the back. “Funerals! For us! We'll be guests at our own deaths! That's my big surprise!”

Huck leaped in the air. “I love it!”

“Me, too!” said Tom. “Now, come on. Let's go hide near the church.”

We scrambled up to the churchyard before anyone saw us and dived behind the bushes that lined the walk. The villagers headed into the churchyard, whispering as they trudged up the path, about the sad doings on the river, but went silent once they crossed the threshold and entered the church. Soon, the whole town was inside.

We crept to the door and peered in.

“I can't remember when the church was so full before,” said Joe.

“I can't remember the last time I was in it,” said Huck with a chuckle. “And now it's too late, because I'm dead.”

“You're not actually dead,” said Frankie.

“Oh, right,” he said. “I keep forgetting.”

Tom seemed to want to laugh, but his eyes caught sight of Aunt Polly and his half brother Sid and half sister Mary all in black. They sat next to the Harpers, who were also in completely black outfits.

“I almost want to cry for those poor kids,” I said.

Frankie grunted. “Devin, we're not dead.”

The preacher stood at the pulpit and began to speak.

It was a sorrowful speech. The minister talked about Tom and Joe and even Huck. He remembered incidents in their lives that showed how sweet and generous they were, what noble and fine children they were.

The congregation became more and more moved as the minister went on, until at last the whole group broke down and wept in loud wails and sobs. Even the minister began crying in the pulpit.

“The time is right,” said Tom. “And here we … go!”

With that, Tom pushed open the doors with a bang, and he and Huck and Joe strode in, all grins and smiles.

The minister raised his eyes from his soggy handkerchief and stood frozen in the pulpit. First one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then the whole congregation rose together and stared.

“The three dead boys!” someone whispered.

“They're marching up the aisle!”

“They're—alive!”

Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves on the boys and almost smothered them nearly to death with kisses and hugs and stuff.

The minister shouted at the top of his voice: “Sing! Sing the hymn, ‘Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow!' Sing, I say! And put your hearts into it!”

And everyone did. The sound was amazing. As if everyone had trained to be an opera singer, the sound of everybody singing somehow sounded really beautiful.

And while the song shook the rafters of the church, Tom turned to us and said, “What a day for us pirates! What a homecoming for a band of cutthroats!”

Becky Thatcher nearly hugged Tom herself. She settled for proclaiming that she would have a great picnic to celebrate the boys' homecoming.

“It's a great day,” I said. “We're alive. Talk about fun, fun, fun? This is terrific!”

But Frankie pulled me aside and gave me a look.

“What's the matter?” I asked.

“Something we forgot about is coming back. Something not so great and fun.”

She opened the book to the next chapter. I read the first line. I gasped.

“The murder trial of Muff Potter!”

Chapter 13

No sooner had everyone finished cheering about Tom and the boys being alive, than they started gossiping about the trial getting ready to start.

“It's all Muff Potter, Muff Potter, Muff Potter on the street,” Huck said, when we met at the courthouse the next day.

Tom shook his head slowly. “I reckon he's a goner. I sure feel sorry for him sometimes.”

“Muff's always been good to me,” said Huck. “He gave me half a fish once when there wasn't enough for two. He loafs around, of course, but we all do that.”

“I'm even an expert loafer myself,” I said.

“He's mended kites for me,” said Tom. “And helped me knot hooks on my fishing line.”

Frankie frowned. “Maybe we could break him out?”

Tom and Huck both shook their heads.

“I heard people say that if he was to get free, they'd find him and hang him, anyway,” said Huck.

That stopped conversation for a while.

“Let's go to him now,” said Tom. “At least we can make him feel better.”

That sounded good to all of us, so together we sneaked between the buildings until we were behind the jail. Tom went to the barred window and peeked in. “Muff?”

The balding head rose up slowly behind the bars, blinked, and grinned at us. A strange pain stung my throat and chest as I saw the poor guy in there. Like Frankie, I really wanted to bust him free, but the story didn't seem to want to go there.

Huck passed some tobacco and matches through the bars, and Muff looked as if he would cry at the kindness of it.

“You've been mighty good to me,” Muff said. “Better than anybody else in town. And I won't forget it. Often I've said to myself, I used to mend all the boys' kites and things and show them where the good fishing was and befriend them when I could, and now they've all forgotten old Muff when he's in trouble, but Tom don't and Huck don't, they don't forget him! And I don't forget them! Well, boys, I've done an awful thing. I was drunk and crazy at the time, I guess, and now I've got to pay for it with my life. It's only right …”

We so wanted to tell Muff that he was innocent, but we settled for asking him if he had seen any lost page with a scribble on it in the jail. He shook his head. Finally, we all left the place, miserable and sad and feeling wrong about the whole thing.

“The author's not going to let this happen, is he?” Frankie said as we headed out to the main street.

“It looks like it,” I said.

“But this is so wrong!” she said. “All the evidence will point to Muff being guilty. Everyone will be too afraid of Stinkhead Joe to say anything. He'll just be sitting there in the courtroom like some kind of …”

“Murderer?” I suggested.

“Exactly.”

Tom frowned. “I'll meet you all inside the courthouse. There's something I have to do first.” He slipped through the gathering crowd and disappeared.

After some minutes, Huck, Frankie, and I finally squeezed our way into the back row of the crowded courtroom, which was jammed wall to wall with townspeople. I looked around for Tom, but couldn't spot him.

Just as we sat down, Muff Potter was brought in, looking worse than ever. His eyes scanned the crowd, then he winced when he spotted Stinky Joe, sitting motionless in his seat, his eyes as steely and cold as ever.

“Poor Muff,” I said.

When the judge called the first witness, it turned out to be that guy who had seen Muff washing. The man claimed that Muff never washed, so he must be guilty. The crowd murmured agreement with that.

When given the chance to ask the witness some questions, Muff Potter's lawyer said, “No questions.”

The next witness was the guy who had found the knife near the doctor's body. Again, Muff's lawyer had no questions for him.

When the third witness identified the knife as Muff's, and Muff's lawyer still said, “No questions,” I got mad. “Why isn't the doofus asking any questions?” I whispered to Frankie. “I've seen enough courtroom scenes on TV to know that you're supposed to make the witnesses seem wrong. Even I could do a better job.”

“Devin, I don't think so—”

But I couldn't watch Muff take the rap for a crime he didn't commit. I leaped up, and pounded the desk of Muff's lawyer. “What kind of lawyer are you, anyway?”

“A trial lawyer,” he said.

“Well, stop trying and do something!”

“I object, Your Honor.”

“Did you hear that, Judge?” I said. “This man objects to your honor. How dare he! Fire him! Send him to jail! I'll take over the questioning now.”

“But, you haven't tried any cases!” said the judge.

“I'll try anything once—
ooomph
!”

I was suddenly on the floor. Frankie had tackled me.

“Devin, you're spoiling everything. Muff's lawyer has a plan, and you're wrecking it, big-time!”

“A … plan?” I said.

Frankie nodded. “If you'd read, you'd know. Look.”

Muff's lawyer stood before the court and said, “I wish to call … Thomas Sawyer to the stand!”

“Whoa! A little surprise here!” I mumbled.

Every eye fastened on Tom as he appeared at the side door. He took his place on the stand, looking scared.

“Tom Sawyer,” said Muff's lawyer, “where were you on the seventeenth of June, at the hour of midnight?”

Tom opened his mouth, glanced at Stinky Joe's cold, hard face, and closed it again. A moment later, Tom seemed to get his strength back.

“In the graveyard,” he said.

A crazy smile flitted across Joe's face.

“Were you anywhere near Hoss Williams's grave?”

“Yes, sir,” Tom answered. “As near as I am to you.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Only a cat, sir,” Tom said. “A dead one.”

There was a ripple of laughter in the courtroom.

“Now, Tom,” said the lawyer, “tell us what you saw when you and your dead cat were in the graveyard.”

Tom began, slowly at first, but then more easily, to describe everything he had seen that night. He purposely left out that Frankie and me and Huck were there with him. To keep us out of all the trouble, I guess.

When Tom got to the big part, everyone in the room leaned in close and hung on every word he said.

“And as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter fell, Joe jumped with Muff's knife and—”

CRASH!

As quick as lightning, the murderer sprang out of his seat, hurtled himself straight through a window, and was gone!

“Whoa!” I said. “Is that guy guilty or what?”

Chapter 14

Faster than you can say, “There he goes!” search parties of noisy men with sticks were combing every street and alley in the village for signs of Stinky Joe.

But nobody could find him anywhere.

Muff Potter was free, of course. But an even bigger thing was that Tom was a hero. The townsfolk carried him right out of that courthouse and down the main street, cheering and whooping up a storm.

Back at Aunt Polly's, Tom told us what he had done.

“After we saw Muff in jail, I felt so bad I went straight to Muff's lawyer and told him how I saw Stinky Joe do the murder.”

“Good job,” I said. “I was waiting for that lawyer to come up with something. It turned out to be something huge!”

“Tom, you sure made Muff happy,” Huck added. “And Stinky Joe mad.”

Frankie didn't say anything.

“What's the matter?” I asked her.

She pulled me aside. “Devin, I'm really glad Muff is free, but we're two thirds through the book, we've been to the school, the graveyard, the island, the courthouse, the jail, and no lost page. What if we don't find it?”

I grumbled at the thought. “Maybe it's hidden somewhere we haven't thought of.”

Tom's eyes suddenly lit up. “Hidden? As in … buried?” Then he nearly exploded with the word.

“Treasure!”

Tom was already running for the door. “If you got something that's hidden, it's most likely buried. And what's buried is meant to be dug up!”

“I like the way your brain works, Tom,” I said. “But where should we dig?”

“Treasure is mostly hid under the floors of a haunted house!” he said.

Frankie shuddered. “Haunted house?”

“Luckily, we got one real close,” said Tom with a laugh. From Aunt Polly's doorway, he pointed up the street to a hill. “Over Cardiff's Hill. The hauntedest house in town. It's a real spooker!”

I looked at Frankie. Neither of us wanted to deal with a haunted house, but it was clear that we were running out of scenery in this story. We had to check it out.

“Point the way, Tom,” I said.

So we picked up a couple of bent shovels and picks from the shed behind Aunt Polly's house and tramped up over the hill called Cardiff's Hill.