The Buried Book Read Online Free

lost his wind. Even the trail of dust had died down by then. There was nothing but corn. The burning in his lungs was his only consolation. He turned and looked how far he’d gone down the road from his uncle’s driveway. He hated that road. He’d watched it for three days, jumping up at the sound of every passing car, thinking it was her.
    He couldn’t go back and just wait, he decided. His mother was missing, and he was going to find her. He spun back to the road ahead and started walking toward town. Maybe he’d hitch a ride back to Detroit or ride the boxcars like a real hobo. If Little Orphan Annie could solve a crime, he could find his mother.
    He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked at the larger stones as he went, bashing his toes against them through his dirt-covered socks. His uncle was wrong. His mother wasn’t dead. She wasn’t even sick. He knew that was how people died, because that’s what had happened to the old man who lived down the hall, the one who would always ask him if he liked baseball. He would cough and cough all night, shaking the walls of Jasper’s bedroom until, one night, he just stopped. He’d been very old and wrinkled. His mother wasn’t hardly old at all. She did complain about getting gray hairs. Those were all his fault, she said. But she didn’t have white hair. It was still mostly black. Her face was still smooth and beautiful, with only the smallest crinkles around her eyes when she smiled. He loved it when she smiled.
    A stray tear fell down his cheek. He wiped it away.
    She can’t be dead, he decided. Not unless someone killed her.
    He stopped walking. His uncle’s voice repeated in the back of his head, Althea, what are you runnin’ from?
    “Jas—per!” He heard his name being called from a half mile away. It was his uncle.
    The boy turned to the tall rows of corn and ran into the field.

CHAPTER 4
    Tell me about your mother. What kind of woman was she?
    The rustle of the corn drowned out the sound of his uncle’s voice as Jasper ran through the field. Leathery green leaves clawed his face and shoulders as he pushed his way down the unbending furrow between the rows. Stalks towered over his head, blocking out the sky. The hot air was thick with dirt and pollen. It was like breathing mud. He was drowning in corn. He didn’t even know where he was going.
    Jasper stopped and forced himself to take ten deep breaths, just like his mother had taught him to do when he’d wake up screaming with nightmares. Just breathe, baby. Everything will be okay, she’d say. But it wasn’t okay. He couldn’t breathe. One, two, three . . . four . . . five . . .
    Jasper grabbed a thick cornstalk to steady himself. Uncle Leo had told him once that if he listened real hard , he could hear the corn grow. It sounded exactly like the kind of stupid nonsense grown-ups liked to tell little kids. But Jasper listened for the corn despite himself . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . All he could hear was the faint buzz of hidden insects and the hiss of his own ragged breath. He strained again before giving up . . . nine . . . ten .
    No one could hear corn grow. Jasper whacked his forearm against a cornstalk, hoping it would break in half. It just swayed back and forth like it was laughing at him. His uncle had lied. His mother had lied too. She isn’t coming back soon.
    A white cloud passed over his head through the long stems. He was smaller than an ant in the grass. He was Jack looking for his beanstalk. Any second a giant would shake the ground, stomp over, and pluck little Jasper off his lawn.
    “Fee . . . Fi . . . Fo . . . Fum,” he whispered. It wouldn’t be so bad to be eaten, he thought and began walking again. The world would go red, then black, and then there would be nothing. He would be okay with that. His skin was itchy with pollen and sticky with sweat. He scratched at a mosquito bite until it bled. Feeling nothing would feel better than