Reminded now, Barbara considered all the realities, the unpleasant and impossible
chores the children would face by themselves. Cooking, once the sweets were gone,
restarting the well-pump when it was airlocked (Dr. Adams had showed her how),
shopping, replacing fuses, fending off possible visitors, answering telephone calls,
making excuses for her own absence, even amusing themselves. They could never do it
all. It was an adults' world, and alone in it, two youngsters their age would soon
discover their weaknesses. Well then, wait it out, she told herself.
Periodically one or another of the pair came in to inspect her and make sure that she
was not freeing herself, then leave again. They were up and down the hall, in and out of
their rooms, back and forth outside and inside with the doors banging heedlessly
behind. The liquor of freedom was in them, and until it burned down, she could only lie
quietly and wait.
Finally, after about two agonizing hours, Bobby-now fully dressed--came into the room,
and after checking her security again, picked up the phone by her bed, and dialed.
There was a br-r-rttt at the other end of the line, and then conversation.
12
His face, which had been thoughtful, quickly assumed a Sunday-scrubbed smile (like
yesterday). "Good morning . . . Mrs. Randall? This is Bobby Adams. Is John there? ... May I
talk to him, please? •.. What, ma'am?" Bobby paused and then said with enthusiasm, "Real
great! And Barbara's taking us swimming in the river this afternoon, again. You should see
her swim; she's on the college team ... yeah. Yes, ma'am, we will ... OK, thank you." There
was silence.
Bobby put his hand over the receiver and yelled, "Cindy! Pick up the phone in the kitchen,
but keep your hand over the mouthpiece. OK?"
From far away, Cindy yelled, 1'0K."
After a moment more, Bobby removed his hand.
"John," he said cautiously. "Yeah, is your mother right there? ... OK." Again his face
changed, this time to very serious, almost possessed. His voice became imitation adult,
clipped. "Red Fox One to Freedom Leader, do you read me? Over."
Silence for a second or two.
"OK, Freedom Leader," be continued. "Mission
going OK so far ....Yeah, no kidding! Yeah, I told
you. We have her . Yeah, Code Urgent from now
on. No, I'm looking right at her right now just like we planned. Right, Red Fox Two?" He
yelled this last at Cindy (in the kitchen). "Yeah, see? OK, Cindy, get off the phone, now. Now
listen, John, can you do what you said about this morning? Yeah, you call the other kids and
meet us here as soon as you can get over, right? ... Cool, man ... OK. Roger. This is Red Fox
patrol out." And he hung up.
For a few seconds, Bobby stared off into space above Barbara's head. Eventually, he
dropped his glance to her, and Barbara understood that there was a lot more to this than
she had imagined.
About midmorning, they heard the sound of someone whistling through his teeth-shrill,
powerful, 13
outdoors, some distance away. Cindy, who was desultorily working on a dress for her doll,
looked up.
"It's John."
"It's them!" Bobby had been moving restlessly around the living room. Now he hurried
through the kitchen to the river door and out onto the steps. Being thirteen and being
Bobby, he did not accomplish this without a certain clumping, banging, and thumping, and
he arrived on the second step down with a thud. Then, putting his fingers between his own
teeth, he whistled back.
From down in the woods at the northeast end of the Adams property-maybe beyond the
woods from Oak Creek-there came a shout. The sound rose and fell. There were words in it
which couldn't be understood at the distance, but Bobby knew them by heart.
"Freedom-m-m Five!" His first shout drunk up by the vastness of sky that hung above the
river and land, Bobby gathered his biggest lungful of air and yelled again. "Freedom-m-m
Five!" He panted. "This is Red Fox One!"
There was quick reply-whistles, shouts-slowly coming closer.
Bobby jumped down the steps and started along beside the vegetable garden with Cindy
down the steps .one clump behind him. Then he stopped. From the outside it would have
been possible to see, perhaps, a look of caution,. of newfound responsibility, on his face.
He was discernibly proud of what he had done, possessive, nervous: it wouldn't do if at this
last minute his captive escaped and descended on Freedom Five like an avenging goddess
of some kind.
"Aren't you going to meet them?"
"You go on. I'll stay here." But he put his fingers between his teeth and whistled once more
for reassurance.
Tom between the desire to run and tell everything first, and a new feeling of duty to her
brother, Cindy hesitated. Then she turned back. "OK, I'll wait, too."
Bobby was a little startled. Being a girl, being little,
14
being the darling, Cindy could get to Bobby politically about as often as she wished, and
she wished often. She cried and accused him, she tattled, she tempted and set female
snares, she rushed out and told all the good news first, and so on and so forth. Bobby was
used to this and used to the discipline that followed if he so much as tried to defend
himself against her. Though they had not invented the fabled law of fang and claw, brother
and sister lived by it inflexibly.
"Why?" Like any man, Bobby was dumbfounded by this offer of peace.
"I dunno"-she shrugged it away quite lightly"! just will, that's all."
Touched (unknowingly), Bobby smiled, and so they went back and settled down, Cindy on
the bottom step-nearest the coming action-and Bobby sort of hanging on the railing, one
foot swinging impatiently over it beneath him. "Do what you want," he said. There was
something almost managerial about Bobby: he took his truces where he found them and
enjoyed them while they lasted, and he trusted his sister about the way he would a
cottonmouth.
At last, the other three kids appeared from the shadows of the woods. They were walking
slowly because the mowed stubble between the ending of the tree line and the vegetable
garden was August-hot, splintery, and dusty. John Randall, the biggest-be was seventeen-
led the way. Behind him (protectively in the middle) came Paul McVeigh, thirteen, and
following, his daintily stepping (excessively thin) sister, Dianne.
Something about their steady, collective approach seemed to relieve Bobby. When they
reached the edge of the garden, he deserted his place on the steps and ran to meet them,
half tackling, half throwing himself at John.
There was something like a ritual dance (again). "Did'ja really do it?"
"Yeah! Really!" Then they were all bobbing around, slapping backs, and laughing, except
for Di- 15
anne who at seventeen plus stood an even one step aside. "Barbara's in there right now.
Wait'll you see it!"
"Was it hard?" Paul said.