Wolf Hollow Read Online Free PDF Page B

the next morning, I ran too and kept them close to me—and me close to them—up the lane and down the other side of the hill, across the fields, toward Wolf Hollow. More than once they stopped to look at me, and at one point Henry said, “You’re fast for a girl,” and another time James told me to slow down and get lost. “We can walk to school by our own selves,” he yelled as he put on speed.
    Which was true, of course, but beside the point.
    When we reached the path into Wolf Hollow, I caught up with them and grabbed James by the arm. “I want to walk with you the rest of the way,” I said.
    James shook me off with an uh-uh, but Henry said, “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing,” I said. “Except I saw a big snake on the path yesterday.”
    Henry seemed to accept this. He knew how I felt about snakes.
    James, big-eyed: “A king snake?”
    I nodded. “Biggest one I’ve ever seen.”
    â€œWell, nuts, Annabelle. I would have come back for a look if you’d told us yesterday.”
    â€œWhich is why I didn’t tell you yesterday,” I said. “But let’s go quietly and maybe we’ll see him again.”
    So it was that the three of us were together on the path when Betty stepped out from behind a tree.
    The boys stopped so suddenly that I bumped into them. “Hey, Betty,” Henry said. James just stood still. I cut around in front of the boys and continued down the path.
    â€œCome on,” I said, “or we’ll be late for school.”
    I didn’t look back. The boys followed close by. At the first turn in the path I ushered them ahead and off they ran, and so did I, all the way down the hill and into the schoolhouse.
    â€œI don’t like that Betty,” James said as we unbuttoned our jackets and hung up our caps. “She’s spooky.”
    â€œShe’s just a dumb girl,” Henry said, but he kept his voice down and looked over his shoulder when he said it.
    Betty arrived then, but she paid us no attention at all.
    She focused, instead, on her desk. In it sat one of the biggest boys, Andy Woodberry. I liked that name—Woodberry—but I didn’t like Andy. Nobody did. Not even the other big boys, though they did whatever he told them to do.
    Andy had not been in school since before Betty joined us. He and his father and uncles worked side-by-side farms not too far from ours: dairy cows, mostly, but corn, too, and hay and potatoes. A kitchen garden. Enough ewes for wool and Sunday dinner lamb in the spring. Chickens. Some goats. Pretty much what you’d expect at a dairy.
    End of October, Andy came to school from time to time, mostly for a change of scenery, I thought. He paid no attention to his lessons or to Mrs. Taylor.
    â€œYou’re in my seat,” Betty said to him. Even sitting down, he was nearly as tall as she was, standing, but she didn’t seem the least bit nervous.
    The other children had gone quiet, watching. Mrs. Taylor, writing a lesson on the chalkboard, hadn’t yet noticed.
    Andy looked Betty up and down. “Who are you?” he said.
    â€œBetty Glengarry. Who are you?”
    â€œAndy Woodberry.”
    She considered him, her hands on her hips. “Do you live in the woods?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAre you a berry?”
    â€œNo.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “Do you live in a glen?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I do,” she said.
    Which gave him pause. “And are you a . . .” at which even Andy seemed to understand that there was no good way to finish this. Betty was already smiling.
    â€œ. . . a garry? No, I am not a garry. Unless a garry is a girl who means to sit at that seat you’re in.”
    By now, Andy looked so baffled that I concluded no girl had ever spoken to him this way. Not even his ma.
    If anyone had asked me, I’d have said that Betty would at the very least