Message in a Bottle. Kathryn Reiss
Raphael. At Christmas he called me Rudolph!” He kicked the dirt again, exposing something white in the dust.
“Hey,” Julie said, bending down. “What’s this?” She picked up a white scrap of paper. Just visible through the dust that darkened it were a sliver of a yellow sun and the last part of a word: afe. “Oh, it’s another napkin from the Galaxy Cafe!” It was just like the one she’d found near the chicken coop.
“That’s weird,” Raymond said. “Maybe Vicky’s right. Maybe Mr. Coker was here.”
The shadows around the barn were deepening, and Julie couldn’t help shivering and looking around worriedly, as if expecting to see the cafe owner sneaking up on them. Mr. Coker hadn’t seemed like a very nice person when she’d met him at the restaurant, but she didn’t like thinking he’d be mean enough to scare off the bees or let the chickens out to be killed by foxes.
“Your mom said maybe a curse is making things go wrong,” Julie said.
Raymond shrugged. “Oh, it’s just the old gold mine story.”
“There’s a gold mine here?”
Raymond was silent for a minute, as if deciding how to answer. “Yep,” he said finally. “It’s on our property, down by the river. Some gold miners staked claims there over a hundred years ago, but then things went wrong. The walls collapsed, and miners died. So when things go wrong at the ranch now, we say it’s the miners’ curse. But nobody really believes it!”
All the same, Julie thought a gold mine sounded very exciting. “I’d love to see it,” she told him.
Raymond shook his head. “It’s boarded up. You can go in only a few yards.”
“But still—” Across the meadow, a clanging bell cut her off.
“That’s the dinner bell,” Raymond said. “Let’s go!”
On the way back to the Big House, Julie tried to find a way to keep the conversation about the mine going. “I saw a TV show about kids exploring an underground cave,” she began.
“Lucky duck. You have TV?”
Julie stopped for a moment and stared at Raymond, forgetting about the mine for the moment. But of course he couldn’t have TV without electricity, she realized.
“Once a year we go to Sonora for a movie on my birthday.” Raymond’s voice was cheerful.
No television, and a movie once a year? Julie regarded her cousin doubtfully. “We’re like the city mouse and the country mouse in that old story. Our lives are so different.” Julie paused. “You know that story, don’t you?”
“Sure. Ma told it to me when I was little. We’re not that backward out here, though.”
Julie reddened. “I never said you were.”
Three black-and-white dogs raced from the porch, barking, and Julie bent down to stroke them, hiding her flushed cheeks. “I think you’re a lucky duck. I adore dogs, but we can’t have them at our apartment.”
“We have six—a whole pack,” Raymond told her, cheerful again. “And three cats. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” He opened the screen door to the Big House.
The great room held the kitchen and dining area. Beyond that was a large living room with several battered couches and armchairs, and a stone fireplace at one end. A chess game was in progress on a coffee table and a jigsaw puzzle under construction on another table. Along one wall was an assortment of banjos, guitars, flutes—even a cello. Three cats lazed on the shabby couches. The dogs surged forward to greet Raymond and Julie.
“You get to have all these dogs,” Julie marveled, accepting their licks and kisses. “And you only go to school for a few hours a day, and there’s a swing in your barn, and…it’s sort of a perfect life.”
“It was when Pa lived here.” Raymond’s voice turned sad again.
Julie felt a little shy at meeting the ranchers, but everyone greeted her enthusiastically. There were adults and babies and toddlers all gathering around the tables in the dining area, all various ages and races. The men had long hair and bushy beards and wore overalls that looked as if they were held together with patches. Some of the women wore jeans and T-shirts; others wore flowing prairie skirts, and Rose was still in her long red caftan. Vicky, the woman with blond braids, shook Julie’s hand vigorously. “You can call me Viking Vicky,” she said, with a booming laugh. “Everybody does!”
“She’s our self-appointed manager,” Aunt Nadine told Julie with a smile. “The one I told you about with ideas for saving the ranch.”
Vicky bowed low. “Fingers crossed.”
Dolores was carrying a stack of plates to the table. Instead of her black and silver outfit from the cafe, she now wore jeans and a peasant blouse. “We meet again,” she said. “Sorry about that order mixup today! My boss makes me nervous the way he’s always hovering, like he’s just waiting for me to make a mistake.” Dolores seemed bubbly and at ease now that she was home, Julie noticed.
“Being a waitress looks hard,” said Julie.
Rose winked at Dolores. “When we open our shop, you’ll quit the cafe and work with me,” she told her daughter.
The ranchers invited Julie and her mother to sit down to their simple feast of homemade cheese, whole wheat bread, potato salad, and fresh green beans. Julie sat between Dolores and Raymond.
Dolores’s father, Allen, passed Julie a plate of pale yellow butter. “Churned it myself this morning,” he said.
Julie spread a thick layer of butter on her bread. “Everything looks so good. I didn’t think I’d ever be hungry again after that burger at the cafe!”
“So you met my daughter’s boss,” Rose said. “That guy would like nothing better than to fill the whole mountain with restaurants and shopping malls!”
“He did mention wanting to build a housing development here,” said Mrs. Albright.
“I’ll bet he did! A luxury housing development.” Aunt Nadine sniffed. Grimly, she bit into her bread.
The ranchers asked Julie and her mom about their life in San Francisco. They wanted to hear about Mrs. Albright’s shop, about Julie’s sister Tracy, and about Julie’s school. Raymond listened intently. I wonder if he’s lonely, Julie thought.
Later Julie helped Aunt Nadine and Viking Vicky clear the tables, while Rose put a large pot of water onto the stove to heat. Raymond and the men went out to settle the animals for the night. After the dishes were done, Julie and her mother joined the ranchers outside.
Dusk had fallen over the mountain, and the absence of electric lights made the stars seem brighter than they were at home. Julie plopped down next to Dolores at the edge of the porch, dangled her legs over the side, and gazed up at the stars for a long time. Some ranchers sat nearby in rocking chairs; others lay on blankets at the edge of the meadow. After a while, a bear of a man named Jet, with a thick red beard and long curls, began strumming a guitar. His young wife introduced herself as Bonnie, and she held out their baby, a chubby six-month-old named Rainbow, for Julie to cuddle while she and Jet sang a folk ballad:
Oh do you remember sweet Betsy from Pike,
Who crossed the wide prairie with her husband Ike?
With two yoke of cattle, a big yellow dog,
An old Shanghai rooster and one spotted hog…
Julie stroked Rainbow’s silky curls. “Think of it,” she said to Dolores. “Pioneer babies must have crossed the prairie just like in that song!”
“They were coming west as part of the Gold Rush,” Dolores said. “And they settled in places just like