Read Online Carter Beats the Devil by Glen David Gold - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Glen David Gold
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layers of wool like Eskimos. Charles played with one eye on the clock, and an ear cocked for the sound of an approaching cab. James, who usually liked card games that he had a fair chance of winning, plummeted into a snit.
“You’re cheating!” he cried.
“I am not.”
“You aren’t playing fair.”
“James,” Charles said, “you can’t cheat at Stealing Bundles. That’s why it’s a game for babies.”
“Patsy!” James yelled. He stood up.
“We’re not supposed to bother Patsy. James!” Charles followed his brother as he raced out of the room.
“He’s cheating! Patsy, Charles is cheating!” With Charles in close pursuit, James ran up the back stairs, not even holding onto the banister.
The third floor, the servant’s quarters, was a narrow hallway lined with doors, all of which were closed. The amber lights of the wall sconces flickered gloomily. Charles felt uneasy. This was unfamiliar territory—the boys weren’t supposed to disturb the domestics in their private rooms.
James banged on Patsy’s door; Charles tried to restrain him, but James lurched away and banged again, yelling, “He’s a liar!”
“Fine,” Charles declared. “Let the baby cry, then!” He folded his arms and pretended interest in the wall, where there was an etching of a European city.
It was cold in the hallway. Charles tried to see his breath, but it wasn’t that cold. Still, he wondered why no one had thought to build a fire. Heavy clouds swelled outside the tiny window at the end of the hallway.
James went quiet. Biting at his knuckle, he looked up just as Charles frowned and looked down at him. They both knew how long they could carry on before someone, somewhere, hushed them. That time had passed.
James removed his finger from his mouth. “Cook! Cook!” And he bolted past Charles, to the stairs.
But there was no one in the kitchen, or the pantry, or even in Cook’s ready room, where she always sat and read while her stews simmered. In the parlor, they found a note from Cook, printed in her block lettering. She and Patsy had gone to a very important revival meeting and picnic just across the bay, and would be back before dark.
Charles pushed the buzzers on the wall, all of them, at once: they rang all the rooms on the third floor. When there was no response, he looked at the note again.
“They left?” James asked.
“Yes, they left,” Charles nodded. “They’ll get in trouble for that.”
“Why did they leave?”
“Religion,” Charles said, with the same sour expression their parents used when saying the word. “‘Please tell your father dinner will be ready by seven o’clock. If you have any trouble this afternoon, don’t worry, Mr. Jenks will look after you.’” Charles shuddered.
“We’re all alone,” James said. Charles could see James wasn’t sure what this meant: was it exciting? Or a nightmare?
“It’s the first time they’ve left us alone,” Charles said. He looked out the window; the sky was gloomy, darkening. “They’ll be back any minute.” He put his hand on James’s shoulder. “Where does Cook keep the Fry’s chocolate?”
. . .
The sky was dark for a remarkable reason. San Francisco was about to be blanketed with snow. When the first flakes fell, at 3:30, the Carter boys bolted out the front door and onto the street, where they twirled in a circle together, heads back, feeling for the first time ever snow on their faces.
It was like feathers on their skin, for the first minute, and then there was a violent shift in the winds. “Ouch!” Charles winced, for he had just discovered what hail felt like.
“Look!” James shouted, as he caught a pellet of hail on his hand. “It melts! It melts on you!”
The hailstones scattered as they hit the streets. It sounded like it was raining pennies. The boys ran inside and stood in the open doorway, watching in safety until the hail switched again to snow.
“It’s not melting anymore,” Charles cried.
“You’re cheating!” he cried.
“I am not.”
“You aren’t playing fair.”
“James,” Charles said, “you can’t cheat at Stealing Bundles. That’s why it’s a game for babies.”
“Patsy!” James yelled. He stood up.
“We’re not supposed to bother Patsy. James!” Charles followed his brother as he raced out of the room.
“He’s cheating! Patsy, Charles is cheating!” With Charles in close pursuit, James ran up the back stairs, not even holding onto the banister.
The third floor, the servant’s quarters, was a narrow hallway lined with doors, all of which were closed. The amber lights of the wall sconces flickered gloomily. Charles felt uneasy. This was unfamiliar territory—the boys weren’t supposed to disturb the domestics in their private rooms.
James banged on Patsy’s door; Charles tried to restrain him, but James lurched away and banged again, yelling, “He’s a liar!”
“Fine,” Charles declared. “Let the baby cry, then!” He folded his arms and pretended interest in the wall, where there was an etching of a European city.
It was cold in the hallway. Charles tried to see his breath, but it wasn’t that cold. Still, he wondered why no one had thought to build a fire. Heavy clouds swelled outside the tiny window at the end of the hallway.
James went quiet. Biting at his knuckle, he looked up just as Charles frowned and looked down at him. They both knew how long they could carry on before someone, somewhere, hushed them. That time had passed.
James removed his finger from his mouth. “Cook! Cook!” And he bolted past Charles, to the stairs.
But there was no one in the kitchen, or the pantry, or even in Cook’s ready room, where she always sat and read while her stews simmered. In the parlor, they found a note from Cook, printed in her block lettering. She and Patsy had gone to a very important revival meeting and picnic just across the bay, and would be back before dark.
Charles pushed the buzzers on the wall, all of them, at once: they rang all the rooms on the third floor. When there was no response, he looked at the note again.
“They left?” James asked.
“Yes, they left,” Charles nodded. “They’ll get in trouble for that.”
“Why did they leave?”
“Religion,” Charles said, with the same sour expression their parents used when saying the word. “‘Please tell your father dinner will be ready by seven o’clock. If you have any trouble this afternoon, don’t worry, Mr. Jenks will look after you.’” Charles shuddered.
“We’re all alone,” James said. Charles could see James wasn’t sure what this meant: was it exciting? Or a nightmare?
“It’s the first time they’ve left us alone,” Charles said. He looked out the window; the sky was gloomy, darkening. “They’ll be back any minute.” He put his hand on James’s shoulder. “Where does Cook keep the Fry’s chocolate?”
. . .
The sky was dark for a remarkable reason. San Francisco was about to be blanketed with snow. When the first flakes fell, at 3:30, the Carter boys bolted out the front door and onto the street, where they twirled in a circle together, heads back, feeling for the first time ever snow on their faces.
It was like feathers on their skin, for the first minute, and then there was a violent shift in the winds. “Ouch!” Charles winced, for he had just discovered what hail felt like.
“Look!” James shouted, as he caught a pellet of hail on his hand. “It melts! It melts on you!”
The hailstones scattered as they hit the streets. It sounded like it was raining pennies. The boys ran inside and stood in the open doorway, watching in safety until the hail switched again to snow.
“It’s not melting anymore,” Charles cried.
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