Farewell Summer (Greentown Book 3) by Bradbury Ray

Author:Bradbury, Ray [Bradbury, Ray]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-05-20T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

“THERE,” SAID MOTHER, FIXING HIS TIE.

“Who cares about a darn girl’s birthday party?” said Douglas. “It sounds awful.”

“If Quartermain can go to all the trouble to have a cake made for Lisabell, you can take an hour and go. Especially since he sent invitations. Be polite is all I ask.”

“Come on, Doug, aw come on!” cried Tom, from the front porch.

“Hold your horses! Here I go.”

And the screen door slammed and he was in the street and he and Tom were walking in the fresh day.

“Boy,” whispered Tom, smiling, “I’m gonna eat till I get sick.”

“There’s a deep and dire plot in here somewhere,” said Douglas. “How come all of a sudden Quartermain isn’t making a commotion? How come, just like that, he’s all smiles?”

“I never in my life,” said Tom, “argued with a piece of cake or a bowl of ice cream.”

Halfway down the block they were joined by Charlie, who fell into step beside them and looked like he was going to a funeral.

“Hey, this tie’s killing me.” Charlie walked with them in a solemn line.

Moments later they were joined by Will and the others.

“As soon as the party’s over, let’s all go skinny-dipping out at Apple Crick. Might be our last chance before it gets too cold. Summer’s gone.”

Doug said, “Am I the only one who thinks there’s somethin’ fishy goin’ on here? I mean, why’s old man Quartermain giving Lisabell a birthday party? Why’d he invite us? I smell a rat, fellas.”

Charlie tugged at his tie and said, “I hate to say this, Doug, but it looks like any day now, whatever’s left of our war ain’t going to be nothing. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to fight them anymore.”

“I don’t know, Charlie. Something just doesn’t add up.”

They came to the ravine and stopped.

“Well, here we are,” said Douglas. “Keep your eyes peeled. If I give the word, break and scatter. You fellas go ahead,” said Douglas. “I’ll be down in a minute. I’ve got some strategizing to do.”

Reluctantly they left him and started down the hill. After they had gone a hundred feet they began to shuffle and then lope, and then run, yelling. They pulled up below, by the tables, and from a distance, here and there through the ravine, like white birds skimming the grass, came the girls, running too, all gathered in one place, and there was Calvin C. Quartermain, reeling down the pathway in a wheelchair, calling out in a high and cheerful voice.

“Hell,” said Douglas, standing back alone. “I mean, heck.”

The children gathered, shoving and pushing and laughing. Seen from a distance they were like little figures on a beautiful stage. Their laughter came drifting up to Douglas and his mouth twitched.

And then, beyond the children, resplendent on its own white-clothed table, was the birthday cake. Douglas stared.

It rose, tier upon tier, of such a size that it towered like a snowman, magnificent and shining in the sun.

“Doug, hey, Doug!” voices drifted up to him.

But he didn’t hear.

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