Down Coon Hollow Road

By Joy Gradert

Maynard Olms is an eighty-year-old bachelor who lives in a three-room house with his wolf-dog, Duke, in the Ozark Mountains of southern Missouri. John and Marcella Washburn and their two children, Kelsey and Andrew, live on one end of Coon Hollow Road. Maynard and Duke live on the other.

It is the summer of 1988, “the nation’s worst drought in 50 years,” declares the July 4, 1988, issue of Time Magazine. Cattle are starving as Missouri pastures shrivel and die in the heat. Gardens yield no vegetables for canning and freezing. Orchard trees produce only nubbins of fruit. Apprehension seeps into the already-impoverished community.

On the first day of seventh grade, Kelsey Washburn comes home and tells her parents about her new friend, Ava McKittrick, who has just moved into their rural neighborhood from Arkansas. Motherless Ava, who lives with her father, Ben McKittrick, is a child prodigy in math and science.

A relationship blossoms between elderly Maynard and the two teenage girls, Kelsey and Ava. The girls carry supper to Maynard two nights a week. They stack his firewood, listen to his harmonica, and soak up the wisdom of his yarns.

The girls confide in Maynard, telling him about their dreams of college and hoped-for careers as a scientist and a veterinarian.

Maynard, who lives like a pauper, actually has a fortune hidden on his Missouri property. When Maynard dies, his Last Will and Testament directs that his money be distributed to Kelsey and Ava, to be used for their college educations, “if they can find it.”

But Maynard’s evil nephew, Clayton Olms, also has his sights set on finding Maynard’s money and shows up on Coon Hollow Road at the most inopportune time.

It’s a winner-takes-all treasure hunt between two teenage girls and Clayton Olms, a convicted criminal wielding a gun! Ultimately, Duke, Maynard’s beautiful wolf-dog determines who finds the hidden treasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638141082

Book preview

Chapter 1

I was twelve years old, and I’d grown up poor. The uppity-ups called us Missouri rednecks. I suppose they’re right. But it had never really bothered me much, at least not until that September morning in 1988 when I first met Ava McKittrick.

The school bus rumbled down the gravel road toward me and rolled to a stop at our mailbox. The door opened.

I hesitated. Seventh grade, unfamiliar school building, different teachers, new kids from all over Rushland County—I didn’t want to go.

Get on! demanded my younger brother, Andy.

What does he care? He’s going into fourth grade—same old school building, same teachers. All his friends are waiting for him.

Okay then. I’ll go first! Andy scrambled up the bus steps and disappeared.

I followed him. The bus was nearly full. I sat down next to a girl I didn’t know. She was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt emblazoned with Arkansas Razorbacks. Her dark auburn hair was pulled back into a tight braid that hung down to the middle of her back. She was gazing out the bus window at our house.

Interesting house, she said.

Oh brother! Here it comes…some crude comment about us being poor.

Our southern Missouri house was not what you’d find in the suburbs of Kansas City. It was clapboard, sided over on the north and west walls with sheets of pea-green, navy-blue, and white tin Dad had found at the salvage yard.

Looks a lot like my house in Arkansas, she continued. Except mine was striped red, white, and blue. Dad got the sheets from a contractor who built metal barns. Her green eyes were shining. It seems we have something in common.

My apprehension lifted, and I grinned at her. And I suppose you had big white stars painted on the roof.

She burst out laughing. No, but what a fantastic idea! I wish I’d thought of that. Dad would have painted them for me. I’ve never been very artistic, but white stars would have been perfect!

I decided it was time to introduce myself. I’m Kelsey Washburn, and I’m going into seventh grade at Rushland County Junior High.

Hurrah! That means we’ll be in the same class. My name is Ava McKittrick, and I moved here three weeks ago from Arkansas. My dad’s working at the lumber mill.

Where do you live? I asked.

Her green eyes closed, and I could almost hear her mind calculating. Suddenly, her eyes flew open. Three and one-half miles southwest of your house.

I shook my head. What’s it look like? What’s the address?

Oh, it’s on Sugar Creek Road…little green house, paint’s peeling off. Picket fence in the front yard is falling apart. Barn out back has the roof collapsing on the west side.

Okay. I nodded. Art Fenton’s place. I heard he moved into town to be closer to his wife, Bertie. She’s living in the nursing home now.

That’s it, Ava replied. We’re renting the house from Art. He said we could live there rent-free until January if we fixed up the place. So Dad’s working on the house windows now. Next week we’re pulling out the picket fence.

Do you have any brothers or sisters? I asked. I have an annoying little brother, Andy. Did you see him get on the bus?

He sort of flew past me. She laughed. No, it’s only me and Dad.

You don’t have a mother?

Well, of course, I had a biological mother. But she left us when I was four. She told Dad she wanted to be an actress and that she was tired of living under a tin roof. Ava’s green eyes saddened. I don’t know why. I like the sound of rain on a tin roof.

Mental Note: Never ask Ava about her mother again! It makes her very sad.

I went back to talking about tin roofs. We have a tin roof on our house, I said. Andy and I shared the same bedroom when we were little, but a couple years ago, Dad said I needed a space of my own. So he built me a loft over the kitchen. I have to use a ladder to get up there, but I like it.

I’ll bet you can hear the rain. Ava smiled.

And also the acorns! I added with a groan.

What?

In the fall, I explained, when the wind blows. There is a huge oak tree next to our house, and the acorns come pounding down on the roof all night long. It’s enough to drive you crazy! I cover my head with my pillow and blankets, but I still hear them, sort of like a shotgun firing every few seconds.

Ava laughed. I think I’d like to see your room in the rafters. Actually, I’d like to see how your dad built it. I’m sort of interested in architecture, and it would be good to see how he braced it up there, how he supported the framework in the original house.

I almost gave Ava one of my You’ve got to be kidding! glances, but she seemed so sincere. Architecture? Really? I’d never known anyone interested in architecture, especially someone my own age.

How did you get interested in architecture? I asked her.

I read a lot, she said. Right now I’m reading a couple books about Frank Lloyd Wright. He was a famous architect, and he designed some of the most incredible buildings. Really different buildings. Not like anyone had ever built before.

Well, we could have a sleepover, I suggested. If Mom says it’s okay, you could get off the bus at my house and spend the night in the loft.

That would be fun. Ava nodded. I’d have to ask Dad first.

The bus pulled up to Rushland County Junior High, and the bus driver announced, All seventh and eighth graders get off here.

I whipped a hairbrush out of my book bag and tried to smooth my blond frizz. I hate this humidity! I moaned. It makes my hair all kinky.

You look fine, Ava insisted. Who are you trying to impress? Her eyes widened, and a huge grin spread across her face. I’ll bet it’s a boy! Some cute boy you haven’t seen all summer.

I felt a blush rising on my cheeks.

That’s it! she teased as we trooped down the school bus steps. I’m guessing he’s got red hair and freckles. Am I right?

Chapter 2

I’m not admitting Ava is clairvoyant, but she was right about Josh Sievert.

I hadn’t seen him all summer. I’m sure his father, Doc Sievert, the only veterinarian in town, had kept him busy at the animal clinic cleaning wire cages, filling water pans, and walking dogs. I would have given my right arm for that job.

And no, Josh did not have red hair, although he did have an abundance of freckles.

Rushland County Junior High, Ava read the red brick sign on the front lawn. Well, here we go.

We joined the throng of students being propelled through the front door and down the long hallway.

I pulled out my Homeroom Assignment Card. I’m in Room number 702, I shouted to Ava.

So am I! she hollered back. Have you been here before?

Yes, one night last spring…for orientation. But we had a student guide then. She was an eighth grader, and she led us all over the building. I shrugged. I have no idea where we are now.

Ava stuck out her arm, grabbed a girl with curly black hair, and asked, Could you please tell us where to find Room 702?

The girl pointed to the wide staircase at the end of the hall. Seventh grade is upstairs. Eighth grade’s on this floor.

Thanks very much, we echoed together and started running. We took the steps in unison and stood facing a long line of beige-colored lockers. Room 701 was on our right. Room 702 was on our left. Farther down the hall were signs that read Room 703 and Room 704.

Room 702 was filling up fast. Ava and I took seats across from each other. I glanced around the room. Claire and Becky were sitting in the back corner. Billy and Wade were on my left. I didn’t know anyone else. Six of us, including Ava, had come from Turner’s Mill.

Is your boyfriend in here? Ava whispered.

I shook my head as the bell clanged loudly, drowning out any further conversation.

Our teacher was standing at the front blackboard writing in big letters:

welcome to seventh grade

september 6, 1988

mrs. rachel sullivan

Good morning, students, Mrs. Sullivan greeted us cheerfully. Her voice was deeper than I had expected. She was tall and willowy with short brown hair that cupped her chin. She had a pixie nose, turned up on the end, that made her look young. I guessed she was about thirty.

I’m sure most of you don’t know each other, she said. You’ve come from all over Rushland County, and a lot of you had a long bus ride to get here. I thought we should start the day by getting to know each other better. So I’d like you to stand up, one at a time, and tell us something about yourself.

Mrs. Sullivan waltzed over to the row of desks nearest the windows. Her summery yellow dress swirled around her knees.

We’ll start here, she said. You may stand beside your desk. No one needs to come up front.

A girl with short dark hair, brown eyes, and a gorgeous tan stood up slowly. My name is Susan Ridell. I live in Hickory Grove. I have an older sister, Adrienne. She’s in high school. My dad manages a canoe rental on the Current River, and my mom drives a school bus. She brought some of us here today. I like to fish for bluegills.

Susan’s snapshot of her life set the example for every student who followed. My classmates, all twenty-four of them, came from little towns all over Rushland County. Some had brothers and sisters; some didn’t. Their dads drove semi trucks or worked at the lumber mill or did road construction. Some of their moms had jobs; some didn’t. Most of the boys said they liked to go hunting for deer and squirrels and wild turkeys. Most of the girls said they liked to cook or swim or go tubing down the river.

Becky, one of my friends from Turner’s Mill, stood up slowly.

My name is Rebecca Piper. My dad farms west of Turner’s Mill. He has cattle, but the pastures are very dry, and he’s worried he’ll have to sell all his cows if it doesn’t rain.

Becky sat down. She hadn’t said a thing about what she liked to do…or even about her new baby brother. In fact, Becky looked like she might start to cry.

Mrs. Sullivan swished quickly over to Becky’s desk and put her hand on Becky’s shoulder.

You’re right, Rebecca. It has been incredibly hot and dry this summer. Dry! Dry! Dry! she emphasized. A lot of farm families are worried. There hasn’t been any rain to grow pastures or vegetables or grain. I was hoping to can my tomatoes for winter, but the vines are shriveling up to nothing. We can just hope for autumn rains…and hope they start very soon.

Becky looked up at Mrs. Sullivan and smiled a little smile.

Mrs. Sullivan is nice, I thought.

Claire Barstat was next. I knew what Claire would say—that her dad owned the Turner’s Mill Lumber & Grain…and most of the money in Turner’s Mill Bank. My dad worked for Howard Barstat. Slaved is more like it. Most days Dad was at the store by 6:30 a.m. and worked till after dark stocking shelves, ordering supplies, helping customers, making deliveries. Dad said Howard Barstat should have paid him the wages for three men, but of course, he didn’t. Instead, Mr. Barstat bought a speedboat and took his wife and Claire on sightseeing trips down the river. I didn’t even listen to Claire gloating about all the things she liked to do.

Finally, it was my turn. I ran my fingers across my short fringe of bangs and stood up.

My name is Kelsey Washburn, and I live seven miles south of Turner’s Mill on Coon Hollow Road. My dad works at Turner’s Mill Lumber & Grain. My mom’s a great cook. She makes cakes and pies for Lily’s Corner Café. I have a younger brother, Andy. He’s in the fourth grade. I thought a minute and added, I really love animals, especially dogs.

As I sat down, I saw Ava grinning at me. Maybe we shared that too…a love of dogs. I’d have to ask her.

Several more students introduced themselves, and then it was Ava’s turn. She stood up quickly and addressed the class like she’d been giving speeches for years.

Hello, my name is Ava McKittrick and I live south of Turner’s Mill, not far from Kelsey Washburn. I moved to Missouri three weeks ago from Arkansas. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. My dad works at the lumber mill. She paused, and I hoped she wasn’t going to say anything about her mother. Instead, Ava stood up even straighter and held on to the corner of her desk. I love science and mathematics. She took a deep breath. I intend to earn a full scholarship to MIT and become a nuclear physicist.

Ava looked over at me, flashed a mile-wide grin, and sat down.

Chapter 3

Whew! And I thought it was strange that Ava was interested in architecture. Now she stands up and tells the whole world she’s going to be a nuclear physicist!

The boys started snickering; the girls started giggling. Ava’s grin disappeared. Her jaw screwed tight. Her green eyes stared straight ahead at the blackboard.

Mrs. Sullivan whisked to the front of the classroom and picked up a piece of chalk.

Ava! she exclaimed. What a wonderful goal you’ve set for yourself! I’m sure most of your classmates don’t even know what MIT means. She drew the three letters on the blackboard and wrote, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, underneath. It’s a very prestigious university for scientists and mathematicians. Many award-winning scholars have graduated from MIT. I think you’ve shown your classmates that living in southern Missouri should not deter them from dreaming big dreams and believing they can become anything they desire.

Ava’s smile came back. Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.

And, Ava, Mrs. Sullivan added. Please stop for a moment at my desk after class.

*****

The first day was over. Our school bus pulled up to the curb, but Ava was not beside me waiting to get on.

She must still be talking with Mrs. Sullivan, I thought.

You can’t leave yet! I hollered to the bus driver through his open door. We have to wait for Ava. She doesn’t have any other way home.

One minute! he replied irritably. I’m pulling out of here in one minute, and I’ll leave you too if you don’t get on.

Suddenly Ava appeared, racing around the corner of the school, her long braid flying, her book bag dragging the ground.

We charged up the bus steps and collapsed onto the front seat. The bus driver frowned at us in his rearview mirror.

Are you in trouble? I whispered to Ava.

With the bus driver? Probably.

No, I clarified myself. …with Mrs. Sullivan?

Naw, Ava sighed and shook her head. She just wants me to take some tests so they know where to put me. More tests! I’m always taking tests. Ava sounded exasperated. I guess they don’t want me to get bored in some class I’ve already had. Last year I took astronomy for my science class and geometry for my math class.

Your school offered those in sixth grade? I asked her.

No. But my grade school in Arkansas was across the street from the high school. Mr. Gioletti walked over from high school three days a week and tutored me in both subjects. He was really nice, answered lots of questions, and taught me some really neat things. Before I left my old school, I’d signed up with Mr. Gioletti to take geology and trigonometry in seventh grade, Ava sighed. I don’t know what classes I’ll take now.

Will they move you up to eighth grade…or maybe high school? I asked, worried I wouldn’t have Ava in Mrs. Sullivan’s homeroom.

I doubt it. Ava grinned. I’m lousy at spelling and English grammar. I just do really well in math and science. Mrs. Sullivan said they’d place me after I take a bunch of tests.

And you got smart just by reading books, on your own? Nobody taught you? I asked.

On my own, Ava repeated, nodding. Starting about third grade. Ava settled back into the bus seat and looked at me. Do you really want to hear this story? Nobody ever asks me.

Sure, I said. If we’re going to be friends, I’d like to know about you.

Ava smiled. Well, okay. Dad was working second shift at the factory, and he got home really late at night. So Hattie Martin, the old lady who lived next door, used to come over after school, make my supper, and then put me to bed at eight o’clock. But I didn’t want to go to sleep that early, so I started reading books.

Didn’t Hattie see the light in your room? I wondered.

Yeah, she did. I got caught a couple times. Ava laughed. So I asked Dad for a flashlight. I told him I got scared in the dark and I wanted a light to make sure there wasn’t anything hiding under my bed.

And he got you one right away, I said, already realizing Ava’s father did everything he could for her.

Ava nodded. Then I read under my blankets. Hattie never knew.

So how many books do you think you’ve read? I asked her.

Ava leaned her head back against the bus seat and closed her eyes, calculating again. She shook her head slowly. I really don’t know. Probably hundreds. I read every book in the fourth grade library.

Every book! I exclaimed.

Okay, I lied, Ava admitted. "I didn’t read a couple boys books about race cars and football. But I read everything else—the mysteries, novels, biographies, history books, and all the old classics like Huck Finn, Treasure Island, Black Beauty, Little Women…"

All right! I believe you. I shook my head. Ava was not a typical seventh grader.

Ava continued. Then Mrs. Le Master, my fourth grade teacher, called Dad in for a conference.

And she told on you, about reading in bed?

No. Ava grinned. She told Dad he should take me to the public library in Little Rock so I could check out more books. A huge smile covered Ava’s face and her green eyes sparkled. And then the whole world opened up! Dad and I would go every other Saturday, and I’d check out a pile of books. Ava’s face was glowing. "I started reading books about Sir Isaac Newton and his scientific theories, gravity and light refraction. Then I studied Leonardo de Vinci. He was a fantastic painter. You know, he painted the Mona Lisa, but he was also a great architect. He drew blueprints for beautiful cathedrals in Rome and the Vatican. And then I read every book I could find about Albert Einstein, his theory of relativity and splitting the atom to release energy. You know, E = MC²."

Ava stopped talking and stared directly into my face. I’m sure my eyes were glazed over and my mouth was hanging open. Ava patted my shoulder.

It’s okay if you don’t understand all that, she reassured me. "Most kids don’t. I’ll bet you’re a much better speller than I am. I misspelled legionnaire on my final sixth grade spelling test."

I smiled. I’ve gotten A’s in spelling all through grade school.

All right then! she cheered. I’ll help you with math and science, and you can help me with spelling and grammar.

It seemed like a simple solution for maintaining our friendship.

Our bus turned off the highway and headed down Sugar Creek Road. Yellow dust from Missouri gravel billowed up around the bus windows. We weren’t far from Ava’s house when I remembered to ask her, Do you like dogs?

She shrugged. I don’t know. I’ve never had one. Why?

Well, when I was introducing myself in class this morning, you smiled when I said I liked dogs.

No, Ava answered. "I smiled when you said your mom was a great cook. I thought maybe she could teach me to cook a few simple things for supper. Dad gets tired of hamburgers