The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

more room.
    “I’m coming out in just a minute,” I said. “I just want to check one thing.”
    I didn’t want to admit that Sylvia was right. I had placed a small flashlight from the car in my pocket before coming up here. I had been thinking about doing something like this. I needed a better foothold, so that most of my weight wouldn’t be held by my arms. I found a small crack in the boards supporting the roof shingles and wedged a shoe into it.
    I let go of the rope with one hand and fished the flashlight out of my pocket. I turned it on and shone it downward. I tried to see all the way to the floor of the loft, but the slant of the roof and the offsetting bales prevented me from doing that. I ducked my head to see better.
    “Gary, what are you doing?” Sylvia’s voice showed panic as I disappeared from view.
    “All right; I’m coming up.”
    I was defeated for the moment. As I raised the hand holding it, the flashlight knocked against the roof and fell out of my grasp. We could hear it bounce off the wall several times on its way to the floor. Sylvia screamed an almost silent scream.
    “That could have been you,” she said.
    That was an exaggeration, of course, but I was sufficiently chastised. I was ready to come up. I grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled, while pushing with my foot. I didn’t budge. The sweat was streaming down my face.
    Sylvia lay on a bale, reached down, and tried to wrap her arms around my upper body. She couldn’t get a good grip, it was an awkward angle, and besides, her hundred pounds weren’t enough to offset my greater weight. When she pulled on me, she started sliding down the crack. I made her stop.
    My arms were getting tired of supporting my weight. If I let go of the rope, I would slide down out of sight. Then Sylvia’s fears might come true.
    “Go get Aunt Dorothy,” I said.
    “I’m not going to leave you. If I could move this bale,” she said, indicating the one next to the one I was wedged against, “then we could move that one away from you.”
    “There should be a hay hook on a rung of the ladder that leads up to the window,” I said.
    The rungs were actually pieces of wood nailed to the studs on the side of the barn. I hoped that’s where I had placed the metal hook after Kate and I finished building the fort.
    Sylvia scrambled over to the ladder and found the hay hook. The problem was that I didn’t think she had the strength to lift a bale vertically that weighed as much as she did. Especially since it was surrounded by other bales. She dug the point of the hook into the bale and pulled upward.
    At first, the bale didn’t move. Sylvia placed one foot on each bale adjacent to the offending bale and, using all her weight, gave a superhuman pull. The bale came slowly to a vertical position. With another show of strength, she shoved it out of the way.
    Now I pushed against the bale that held me in place. I didn’t have good leverage. Sylvia grabbed the wires holding the bale together and pulled at the same time I pushed. It rolled out of the way, and I was able to get my elbows on top of the bale below it and with a supreme effort scramble out of the crack.
    We both lay panting. We looked at each other. Her face was red, and, of course, she was covered with hay.
    “Wonder Woman,” I said. “You must eat rivets for breakfast.”
    “Yeah, and it’s a good thing I do. Promise me you won’t try anything stupid when I’m not here.”
    “That was a good flashlight.”
    “I hope I don’t look as bad as you do.”
    “You look worse than I do.”
    She attacked me but ended up brushing me off. I brushed her off. We brushed each other off. And then we kissed.
    “I’d like you to meet Aunt Dorothy,” I said when we had finished the job.
    “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
    “I want her to meet you. And see what a nice girl you are.” And, hopefully, pass that information along to my father before he heard about Sylvia from Dr. Graves.
    ***
    I introduced Sylvia to Aunt Dorothy as the person who had shown me around when I arrived at Carter High and made me feel at home. I also mentioned that I had been driving her to school. Better to hear it from me than somebody else.
    Aunt Dorothy was very cordial. She asked Sylvia questions about school and didn’t say anything about communists. I was hopeful that she would give a good report to my father.
    I looked out the kitchen window and saw the Drucquers’ old car sitting in the driveway.