Those Who Favor Fire by Lauren Wolk (easy readers .TXT) 📕

been empty when he’d dumped his stuff inside and slammed the lid. Later, just as he was about to drive the Schooner away, Al had called out to him. “That lockbox up front there? The previous owner had that installed—for cameras and stuff, I guess. It’s got a good smart lock on it. Combination’s on a slip of paper taped inside. Don’t worry, I didn’t peek,” he’d spluttered, his tongue showing.

But since Joe had not consulted any maps on his headlong flight from home, he had had no reason to open the box as he made his way toward Belle Haven. And by the time he had acquired enough possessions to need the trunk for storage, he’d somehow managed to spin the wheels of the sturdy little lock—nudged them as he edged his way into the driver’s seat, perhaps. The trunk had become locked with the combination inside. And so it had remained for the better part of a year.

But it was a beautiful trunk, and Joe regretted its inactivity. And there was something more besides. Something that he felt he ought to remember. Something that nagged at him every time he glanced at the trunk. He had no idea what it could be, but he was now determined to find out.

He figured that the numbered wheels could not have been knocked too far off course. So, to prevent himself from making matters worse, he wrote down the numbers that were up and then began, very methodically, to try out different combinations. From 5–8–9–4, he went to 4–8–9–4, then to 6–8–9–4, then to 5–7–9–4, then 5–9–9–4, and so on until he had tried out a dozen combinations and yet failed to unlock the safe.

At this point he put away his cleaning stuff, took a shower, and ate a bowl of tomato soup with cheddar cheese melted in it, a stack of crackers, and a fistful of carrots. Then he went back to the box. Ten minutes later, when he was about ready to borrow Ian’s crowbar, he turned the dials to 3–7–0–3 and found that he’d finally got it right.

Inside the trunk were several maps of New England states, a nearly new flashlight, which pleased him greatly, and beneath these things, the cardboard box that he had been surprised to find under the driver’s seat of the Jaguar. As soon as he saw it, the nagging feeling that had inspired this whole investigation was relieved. Some part of him had remembered this box and wondered about it for months now.

When he lifted it out of the trunk, he was again surprised by its heaviness. He carried the box to the kitchen table with both hands, slid into the booth, untied the strings that held the lid on tight, and finally opened it. Inside, a folded piece of notepaper sat atop a tissue-paper nest. He opened the note and began to read.

Dear Kit, it said, and he had to stop for a moment to say the name out loud.

You are an unpredictable boy. To surprise me like this, just when I thought I had you pegged. It’s quite the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. The loot is wonderful, too, of course. It will take me clean away from here and let me get on with my life. I’m only sorry that our reacquaintance will have to wait. Not for long, I hope. Go off and wander around for a bit—it will do you good—but then come find me. I’ll be in San Francisco, I think, or possibly Mendocino. Somewhere along that coast. I shouldn’t be too hard to find. If I haven’t heard from you by our birthday, I’ll write to you at Yale. Or I’ll call. One way or the other, I’ll let you know where I am. In the meantime, watch out for the riptide. Don’t get dragged back down. Use this to have a summer beyond his reach, if such a thing is possible. It’s not much—I’ve kept most of the treasure, since in truth, I need it more—but it should be enough to keep you going if he “cuts you off without a penny.” Which he may do for a month or two. If you find yourself in trouble, call Emily’s parents in Newport. George and Ardith Corrigan. If you’ve lost the number I gave you tonight (which you probably have), they’re in the book. They’ll know how to find me.

Be good.

Holly

For a long time, Joe sat in his kitchen with the letter in his hands and thought about his sister. Pictured her placing the box on the Jaguar’s back floor. Pictured her smiling with satisfaction. Pictured the box sliding under the driver’s seat as he hurried out of town that night.

He could almost feel Holly’s eyes upon him as he turned back the petals of tissue and saw the trio of sleek gold wafers, the crisp coins that nestled inside. He had taken them for her. Now they were his. And there would never be a way to give them back to her.

He put the letter back into the box and the box back into the trunk, shut the lid, walked out of the Schooner, left the door swinging on its hinges.

When he reached the sloping fields beyond the stream, he began to run. At the edge of the forest on the far side of the fields, he grabbed the purple bramble whips that gave most intruders pause and tugged them aside with his bare hands. As he stumbled into the shadowy cathedral of the trees, he was not looking for solace. He wanted immediate distance, a degree of oblivion, exhaustion. He was hoping that the impartial trees would simply shield him for a while from the scrutiny of the world. But he did not reckon on the uncanny knack of forests to hone the truth, or the power of solitude to magnify remorse.

Chapter 19

When peace, Like a river, attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll—

Whatever my lot,

Thou hast taught me to