Daniel nods. Aunt Ruth opens one door, Grandma Reesa the other. A blast of cold air shoots through the car as Evie and Daniel crawl out from the last seat in the station wagon. Before Daniel steps out of the car, he turns back. He wants to tell Dad that he saw Uncle Ray at the Buchers' and that he is going to drive a grader. He wants to ask him about hunting for quail and pheasant and if it's as easy to shoot a bird as it is to shoot a prairie dog. He wants to ask Dad to help him practice before the Bucher brothers take him hunting. But when Dad glares at him, Daniel knows not to speak. Instead, he climbs out of the car and closes the door behind him.

Waiting until the others have gone inside, Celia inhales, filling her lungs with crisp, dry air, and lays her hands in her lap.

"You shouldn't have sent Ruth to sit with Ray," she says.

Arthur crosses his arms on the steering wheel and rests his chin there. "One good snow will bring down that roof," he says.

A few yards in front of the car, overgrown cordgra.s.s, brown and brittle, has nearly swallowed up Reesa's small shed.

"Lot of good snows over the years, I suppose," Celia says. "And it's still standing. Help me understand, Arthur. Why do that to Ruth?"

Arthur is quiet for a moment, staring straight ahead. "Are you sorry I brought you here?" he says, still looking at the shed and not at Celia.

His dark hair has grown past his collar, making him look younger and somehow stronger. Celia stretches her arm across the back of the seat and weaves her fingers into the dark waves.

"No. Well, sometimes." She smiles but Arthur doesn't see. "I'm glad we're here for Ruth. And for our family. Elaine is certainly happy."

"Yeah, Elaine's happy." He nods but doesn't smile. "What about Evie and Daniel?"

Celia crosses her hands in her lap. "Happy enough. They'll make more friends along the way."

"That's where we found her," Arthur says, nodding toward the small shed.

"Who?" Celia says, sitting forward on her seat. "Do you mean Eve? You found Eve there?"

"Don't know why Mother keeps it around."

Celia falls back in her seat. "Right here. So close to home?"

Arthur nods and hangs his head between his arms. "The best I can do is to keep track of Ray," he says. "It's the best I can do. For now." He lifts his head and kneads his brow with the palm of his hand. "I'll take care of her."

Celia nods.

"I'll take care of Ruth," he says again, this time speaking more to himself than to Celia.

"Yes, Arthur, you will. I know you will." Wishing she meant what she said, Celia brushes her hand against his cheek. He leans into her touch. "People were different today. Did you notice? In church, they were different."

Arthur glances at her but doesn't answer.

"They think Ray did it." Celia pauses but no response. She looks back at the shed that seems larger now. "They really think he took Julianne, don't they?"

Still no answer.

"Because of what happened to Eve. Because Julianne was so like her."

"Small town. Nothing much else for folks to talk about."

"But what if he did? What if . . ."

"Ray didn't have anything to do with what happened to Eve."

"How do you know that, Arthur? How do you really, really know for sure?" Celia touches his hand. "You've always said how much Evie resembles your sister. Like Julianne did. If people really think . . . we have to consider it. For Evie's sake. My G.o.d, Arthur. You found Eve dead right here," she says, pointing across the drive toward the shed. "Right outside your mother's house. How can you be so sure? You promised Ruth, remember? You promised her you wouldn't be too sure of yourself."

Arthur nods and lays a hand over Celia's. "We'll go to Hays from now on. For ma.s.s, we'll go to Hays."

Celia needs to trust him. Now, more than any other time, she needs to trust Arthur. And maybe she could have until she saw the looks on people's faces today. Most of them have probably known Ray all their lives. And all of them believe.

"I think it would be a nice drive for all of us," Celia says, trying to swallow the lump that has formed in her throat. "It's a lovely church."

Arthur nods. "Hays'll be fine."

Evie listens for Daniel in the hallway outside Aunt Eve's room. He is supposed to start a fire and that always takes him a good, long time. Grandma Reesa says the trees of Rooks County are plenty safe if the matches are in Daniel's hands. Hearing nothing, she opens her small plastic tote and lays it on the bed. She blows the dust out of the corners and looks around the room. The Virgin Mary won't fit inside the small case, and even if she did, Grandma Reesa would notice if Mary went missing. She is still mad at Daddy for gluing the hands back on, even though she said he could do it. Grandma says it's shameful to use plain old glue on the Virgin Mary and to leave clumps of it stuck to her wrists. Evie walks to the table where the statue sits and touches the seam where Daddy glued her left hand onto her left wrist. She lifts Mary, tilts her back and forth, feels the weight of her before gently placing her back on the table.

Pausing to listen for footsteps again, but hearing nothing except the faraway clatter of Grandma Reesa's pots and pans, she walks to the dresser next to the Virgin Mary's table, opens the small, center drawer and peeks inside.

"Are these your pictures?" she says.

She giggles, feels that she's done something naughty by talking to Aunt Eve like she's right here in the same room. Glancing around, she m.u.f.fles another giggle with one hand and, with the other, lifts out a small silver frame with a picture of Grandma Reesa when she wasn't so big and a man, who must have been Grandpa. Evie holds the picture close to her face.

"He doesn't look so nice. Was he a nice dad?"

No one answers. After propping the picture up on the cabinet, she takes out another.

"Just look at you," she says, smiling down on a picture of Aunt Eve and Daddy. "Your hair is like mine. Look," she says, holding up one of her own thin braids. "Just like mine."

Evie sets the picture next to the first one and pulls the drawer open a little farther.

"Who is this?" she asks, and then nods. "It's you, isn't it? You seem so happy. Look at how you're smiling."

Pulling one sleeve down over her hand, Evie wipes the gla.s.s in the last frame and holds up the picture. A young man, much younger than Daddy, is lifting Aunt Eve off the ground. His arms are wrapped around her waist and Aunt Eve is smiling and holding a wide straw hat on her head with one hand so it won't fall off. She is a girl, almost as old as Elaine, but not quite. The man is wearing a brown cowboy hat pushed high on his forehead. He has dark hair and is staring at Evie through the camera lens. Evie tilts her head left and right.

"He looks like Uncle Ray," she says, smiling. "He's so young and his eye is not so bad."

Then she remembers the Uncle Ray who came to the house wanting a piece of Aunt Ruth's pie and frowns. She looks around the room, at the closet full of dresses, at the Virgin Mary, at the window over the bed, wishing Aunt Eve would tell her the man isn't Uncle Ray, but she doesn't. Still hearing the clatter of Grandma Reesa's pots and pans, Evie puts the first two pictures back in the center drawer, closes it and lays the third picture, the one of Aunt Eve and the happy man, in her small bag.

Chapter 17.

Sitting at the kitchen table while waiting for the potatoes to boil, Celia fans the book for a fifth time, stirring up a small breeze that fluffs Evie's bangs. On the count of three, Evie pokes a finger between the pages to mark the stopping point. The book, an early Christmas present from Ruth to Evie, falls open on the table. Celia takes a sip of spiced cider and stands to turn down the burner, leaving Ruth to study the book with Evie.

The family hasn't returned to St. Anthony's for a month of Sundays, and it is clear that ma.s.s in Hays doesn't suit the rest of the town, almost as if ma.s.s in a different church, even if it is catholic, isn't really ma.s.s at all. Even before the family had attended a single service at St. Bart's, the other ladies in town stared and whispered when they saw Celia and Ruth in the grocery store. Good Christians attended St. Anthony's every Sunday and good Christians didn't leave their husbands, for any reason. Arthur had promised Reesa that the family would go back to St. Anthony's for midnight ma.s.s on Christmas. Perhaps that would do a little something to make the town happy.

Though the rest of the town shakes their heads at the Scotts attending ma.s.s in Hays, it has kept Ruth out of Ray's sight and he seems content to see Arthur at work every day, at least the days that Ray makes it to work. Arthur says Ray is probably drinking again so he doesn't have time to worry about bringing Ruth home.

In the front room, Arthur struggles to force a crooked trunk into a straight tree stand, and out on the back porch, Daniel sifts through the boxes they moved from Detroit in search of the ones labeled CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS. The air smells of evergreen needles, sap and Ruth's homemade spiced cider, making the house warm and cozy even as the wind whips though the attic and the sky darkens with signs of snow.

Studying page 275 of Evie's book, Ruth wraps both hands around her mug, lifts it to her lips but doesn't drink, and makes a tsk, tsk, tsk tsk, tsk, tsk sound as she shakes her head. sound as she shakes her head.

"Is that not a good one?" Evie asks.

"Very poisonous," Ruth says, glancing up at Celia and tapping the page that lays open on the table.

Celia leans over the book and reads the caption beneath the picture-narrow-leaved poison wedge root. Ruth stops tapping and lays one hand flat over the picture, spreading her fingers so she hides the plant. She leans back in her chair, as if checking on Arthur and Daniel.

"It's good for her to learn about the poisonous ones, too, Ruth. To be on the safe side."

Ruth lifts Evie's chin so she'll look Ruth in the eye. "This is definitely a bad one. Very bad. One of the worst."

"Would it make me sick?"

"If you ate it, it would," Ruth says, swallowing and clearing her throat. "But you'd never, ever eat something you found growing outside."

"Except if it was in your garden."

"Yes, that's true." Ruth points to the white leaves that look like tiny tubes with pointed ends. "Cows eat them sometimes. Not often. They don't like the taste. But if they do, it makes them stagger and b.u.mp into things. The blind staggers. Very bad. You leave this one alone."

Evie nods and before Celia can sit again, the back door swings open followed by a gust of cold, dry air. Elaine and Jonathon stumble into the room, their cheeks and noses red, both of them breathing heavily.

"What's all the commotion?" Arthur says, pounding his leather gloves together as he steps into the kitchen.

Evie giggles at the pine needles stuck in his hair. Celia quiets her with a finger to her lips.

Elaine, still wearing her coat and mittens, sticks out her hand. "We're engaged," she says, gazing down at her brown mitten. "Oops." She pulls it off to show the new ring on her finger. "We're getting married."

With a sideways glance toward Arthur, Celia stretches her arms to Elaine. "Oh, sweetheart," she says, holding the tips of Elaine's fingers as she admires the new ring. "It's lovely." Then Celia lifts up onto her tiptoes and gives Jonathon a hug.

Celia had known this was coming. Not because of any secret Elaine had shared, but because of the speed at which Jonathon was building his sc.r.a.p house. Every night at dinner, he came with news of his latest find-a load of two-by-fours, a few solid windows, a cast-iron tub. He was especially proud the day he finished the roof because he beat the first snow.

"Married?" Arthur says, holding his gloves in one hand, both arms hanging stiff.

Ruth slides out of her chair, steps up to Arthur and, as she plucks the needles from his hair, she says, "Yes, Arthur. Married. Isn't it nice?"

Arthur makes a grunting noise but doesn't answer.

"Arthur," Jonathon says, sticking out his hand. "I intended to ask your permission. Planned to wait until Christmas day, but it snuck up on us this morning. I meant to ask you first."

Arthur brushes Ruth away and shakes Jonathon's hand.

"Have you talked about when?" Celia asks, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n. With her eyes, she motions to Arthur that he needs to hug his daughter. He doesn't seem to understand. "A date, I mean. Have you set a date?"

"Spring, I think. Before the baby," Elaine says, resting her hand on the small bulge in Ruth's stomach as the two share a hug.

"What do you mean, before the baby?" Arthur straightens to his full height. His shirt is lopsided because he has threaded his b.u.t.tons in the wrong holes, his hair is spiked like a rooster's crown where Ruth pulled out the needles and his face is pale.

"I mean Aunt Ruth's baby," Elaine says, her cheeks flushing red. "Before Aunt Ruth's baby comes along."

"Isn't that thoughtful, Arthur?" Celia says, also embarra.s.sed at what Arthur was thinking, and also relieved. "But not until you've graduated." She turns toward Jonathon. "You understand, don't you?"

"I told her the very same."

"That doesn't leave us much of a window," Elaine says. "Aunt Ruth, your little sweet pea will be along in late June or early July, don't you think?"

Ruth smiles down at her stomach. "That's my best guess. But rest a.s.sured, she'll be along no matter when you plan this wedding, so you choose whatever date you like."

Evie leaps toward Elaine, grabbing for both of her hands. "I have a wonderful idea," she says. "The dresses. Aunt Eve's dresses. You can use them in your wedding. That's why she has so many. She made them all for her own wedding. Sewed them all by herself. With Mrs. Robison. Isn't that right, Aunt Ruth?"

Ruth looks between Celia and Arthur. "Yes, Evie, but . . ."

"She won't mind. She won't mind if Elaine uses them. Aunt Eve made them for her very own wedding. They're the most beautiful dresses ever. We'll go to Grandma Reesa's. We'll go there and I'll show you. Can we go, Mama?" Evie stops jumping for only a moment. "And now that Elaine is getting married, Aunt Eve will come home again. She'll come to see Elaine get married. She'll come and see how much we look alike. She'll see that I'm little like her and I have braids like her. Won't she be surprised? Won't she?"

"Evie," Celia says, gripping Evie on both arms to stop her from bouncing. "There's plenty of time for wedding talk later. Let's not give Elaine too much to think about."

"I told her about Eve's dresses," Ruth says, stepping back to the table and lowering herself into her seat. "Told her what a wonderful seamstress Eve always was. She saw them in the upstairs bedroom and asked about them." She turns toward Arthur. "I hope you don't mind."

"Mama," Elaine says, nodding toward Evie. "Go ahead."

"Not today," Celia says. "It's your day."

Arthur lays his gloves on the table and runs both hands over his hair, smoothing it. "It's probably best," he says.

Taking a few deep breaths, Celia squats so she is Evie's size. "Evie, dear," she says. "I know Aunt Eve is very special to you."

Evie puckers her lips and nods. The very roundest part of her cheeks and the tip of her nose are red, chapped from the cold dry winter air even though it's barely December. A lot of cold weather to go. The ends of her white, silky bangs catch in her eyelashes when she blinks. She tilts her head.

"She was very special to all of us," Celia says, inhaling and holding the air in her lungs to steady her voice.

"Aunt Ruth showed me her picture. So now I know what she looks like."

Celia takes Evie's hands. They are warm and soft and still smell like the pink lotion she rubbed on her arms and hands after her bath the night before. "We know how you love Aunt Eve's room and her dresses."

Evie nods and starts to smile, but then stops and nods again.

"Honey, Aunt Eve won't be coming to Elaine's wedding." Celia clears her throat. "Aunt Eve has pa.s.sed on, Evie."

Evie crosses her arms and bites her lower lip.

"You know what that means, right?" Elaine asks, reaching a hand toward Evie.

Evie ducks away from Elaine, plants her feet shoulder width apart and rests both fists on her waist. "I'm not stupid. I know what it means."