The road under Uncle Ray's tires changes from asphalt to gravel. Evie feels the change in her stomach, the same tickle she gets when she rides with Daddy in his truck. Getting to Evie's house from church is easy. Now that the road has turned rocky, they will keep driving on Bent Road for a good long while, and when it breaks off to go to Grandma Reesa's house, they'll keep driving straight and the road will turn into Back Route 1. This is where Evie lives. Once Bent Road becomes Back Route 1, they're almost home. Except Uncle Ray turns before the twist in Bent Road that leads to Grandma Reesa's house. He turns on a road Evie's been on before but she can't remember when.

Daniel stands in the middle of the gravel drive, looking first toward the barn and next the garage, but he knows Evie isn't either place. He could check inside Mr. Murray's rusted old car, but she isn't in there either. Besides, he'd have to walk past Olivia to get to that old car, and he can't do that. Steam isn't rising from Olivia anymore. This must mean she's turning cold. Jonathon patted Daniel on the back before rushing off with Elaine to go to the school. He said he'd take care of the old gal when he got back. He said she'd keep just fine in the cold. Daniel doesn't want to think about what this means. There's a smell, too. Maybe it's Olivia's insides starting to rot out, or maybe it's mud and her wet, b.l.o.o.d.y hide.

Something is different now. It's the color of things. The sun is hanging on the horizon and its light is gray instead of clear. Everything is gray. It's almost night. It happens so quickly this time of year. Night didn't seem to settle in so fast in Detroit where there were streetlights and neighbors' lights and headlights. The gray air makes Daniel's stomach tighten and his chest begins to pound as each breath comes faster than the last. He backs away from Olivia. Evie isn't in the barn or the bas.e.m.e.nt or Mr. Murray's old car. She's not anywhere. He takes another backward step and then another. Eventually, he'll run all the way to school. He'll find Evie there and bring her home. A few more steps, but he can't turn away from Olivia yet. She lies on her side, one rounded ear sticking up, one bright eye staring at him. He realizes he is waiting for that eye to blink, but it doesn't. It never will.

It's not quite dark yet. As soon as Uncle Ray turns off Bent Road, Evie sees a small group of men standing in the ditch. Uncle Ray must have seen them, too. They must be the reason Uncle Ray turned because he stops the truck in the middle of the road and shines his headlights on them. A few of the men hold a hand up to shield their eyes and they look at Uncle Ray's truck. Evie scoots to the edge of her seat.

"Those two men have dogs," she says.

Uncle Ray doesn't answer, but instead pulls down hard on the gearshift, backs up, rolling the steering wheel so the truck's tailgate swings around toward the ditch and throws the gearshift forward again.

"Do you know those men, Uncle Ray?"

Again, Uncle Ray doesn't answer. His hat sits high on his forehead, and even though his eyes have plenty of room to see, he doesn't look at Evie. Turning the steering wheel the other way, pa.s.sing one hand over the other the same way Daddy does, Uncle Ray presses on the gas and the men and the two dogs disappear when Uncle Ray drives back onto Bent Road.

The sky is almost all the way dark now, but even so, Evie remembers the place were they saw the men and dogs. She went there a time or two with Daddy when Uncle Ray was away with his other family in Damar. It's Mrs. Hathaway's farm, except Uncle Ray uses it because Mr. Hathaway died a long time ago. Evie slides back in her seat and grabs onto the blanket that Aunt Ruth left behind. For one quick second, something smells sweet and light like Aunt Ruth. Evie feels like she wants to cry again, though she doesn't know why. She grabs two handfuls of the rough quilt, wadding it up in both fists and watches for home.

Daniel is standing in the center of the gravel drive, staring down at Olivia, when Dad starts to beat on his steering wheel. Only then, does Daniel notice the empty sound of the truck's engine. It is rattling and choking but it won't turn over. Dad throws open the driver's side door.

"Go get your mother's keys," he shouts at Daniel.

Daniel doesn't move.

"Hurry up about it," Dad says, reaching behind his seat and pulling out a set of jumper cables. Next, the hood pops open. "The keys, Dan. Get your mother's keys."

Daniel backs away a few more steps. Dad is going to search for Evie but his truck won't start. How will they find Evie if Dad's truck won't start? One more time, Dad shouts. Daniel jumps, spins around, takes two running steps and stumbles.

"Olivia," Evie says. "Is that Olivia?"

Daniel straightens and grabs Evie by the shoulders. Her cheeks and nose are red, her eyes watery. She steps to the side so she can see Olivia.

"What's wrong with her?" Evie says. "Her neck is bad. Her head isn't the right shape."

From a few yards away, Olivia's one eye is staring at them. It's big and black, and like a piece of polished gla.s.s, it shines where it catches the porch light. Daniel turns back to Evie and checks her over top to bottom, searching for missing parts. Two eyes, two ears, a whole head.

"Come inside," he says, stepping in front of her so she can't see Olivia. "Dad," he shouts, pulling Evie toward the house. "She's home. She's home." Stumbling up the stairs, across the porch and pushing open the back door, he shouts, "Mama."

Warm air meets them inside. It burns Daniel's cheeks and lips. He inhales, drops down to one knee and holds Evie's hands.

"Evie's here. Evie's home."

Mama rushes in like the hot air, sweeping Evie up. She checks for missing parts, too. When she gets to Evie's hands, Mama presses them to her cheeks and rubs them between her own hands, warming them, softening them up.

From behind Daniel, Dad says, "Where have you been, child?"

But Mama quiets Evie, tells her that it doesn't matter. "You're home, sweet pea. You're so cold. So cold." And then to Daniel. "Where?" is all she says.

"I turned around and there she was." Daniel stands and whispers. "She saw Olivia. She saw what happened."

"I left her lead on," Evie says. "I did it. I left it on." She cries into Mama's shoulder. "I did it."

Mama looks over Daniel's head at Dad. Aunt Ruth wraps a blanket around Evie's small body. The old quilt smells sour and moldy like the bas.e.m.e.nt. Mama hates drying clothes in the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"No, Evie," Mama says. "It was an accident. No one's fault." Mama stretches out her arms, holding Evie where they can look into each other's eyes. "Where were you, Evie? How did you get home?"

"Uncle Ray brought me," she says. "We went to Mrs. Hathaway's farm, but there were men there so Uncle Ray brought me home."

Chapter 23.

Celia cracks a third egg, cracks it so hard that the sh.e.l.l collapses in her hand leaving the yolk and white to slide through her fingers and into the dumpling dough. Dropping the sh.e.l.l into the sink and wiping her hands on the dishtowel tucked in her ap.r.o.n, she picks up a wooden spoon and stirs the thick dough. After a few minutes, she shifts the spoon to her other hand and continues to dig and grind until she's breathing heavily. Pausing once to roll her head from side to side, she shifts hands again, wraps her forearm around the bowl, drops the spoon and kneads the dough by hand. On the front burner, the chicken stock grows from a simmer to a rolling boil.

"Take it easy," Arthur says, leaning back in his chair and stretching.

Celia glances up at Arthur, but says nothing, and instead reaches for another egg. Reesa shakes her head. Celia grabs the egg anyway, cracks it as hard as the last and throws the empty sh.e.l.l toward the sink. She misses, and as it falls on the floor, she wipes her hands across the front of her white blouse.

Her right arm still in a sling, Ruth leaps from her seat to scoop up the sh.e.l.l. "A nice warm meal always makes things better," she says. "Always makes the house smell so wonderful." She talks as she picks up every piece of the slippery sh.e.l.l as if no one will notice the mess if she keeps talking.

"Making this house smell pretty good, that's for sure," Arthur says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

Celia takes a teaspoon from the drawer and begins to dip up the dough and drop it into the boiling broth, ignoring the fact that it's too runny because she's added one too many eggs. She clears her throat and chokes back a sob when Ruth, after cleaning the egg sh.e.l.l from her fingers, steps forward and whispers, "The kids are fine, Celia. Evie is fine. Safe and sound."

Pausing mid scoop, while Ruth kneads another cup of flour into the dough, Celia says to Reesa, "I've asked that Evie return all of Eve's things to you, along with an apology. I don't know what she was thinking. And getting in that truck with Ray." She stops, swallows. "We need to call Floyd and report this."

"Report what?" Arthur says. "He gave the girl a ride home. d.a.m.n fool that he is, he just gave her a ride home."

"They are searching his farm," Celia says, stirring her broth. "Searching it with dogs. And he took Evie there. You know what that means."

Arthur brushes his hair back from his face and takes a deep breath before speaking. "For twenty-five years, Floyd has been thinking Ray had something to do with what happened to Eve." His eyes are swollen from his having rubbed them and from being tired. "That's the only reason he's keeping such an eye on Ray. Listen, I'll keep him clear of this family, that's for sure. And I know the man is up to plenty of no good, but I don't believe for a minute that he hurt Julianne Robison."

Celia throws her teaspoon into the broth, jumping back when it splashes up. "What about the night Julianne disappeared? He wasn't home. Ruth said so." Celia stands, hand on hips. "He could have done it. How can you know?"

"Evie doesn't have any friends."

Everyone turns. Daniel stands outside his bedroom, his hair tousled and his eyes red as if he woke up from having cried himself to sleep.

"At school. She doesn't have any friends at school. Neither do I, except for Ian. It's not like in Detroit. n.o.body likes us here."

Celia, pulling off her ap.r.o.n, walks toward Daniel. He takes a few steps backward. "What do you mean, Daniel?"

"Just that. No friends. Except for Aunt Eve."

"Of course she has friends," Celia says.

Daniel shakes his head. "She did back home. Had plenty back then. But not here. They call her n.i.g.g.e.r lover. Have ever since we started school. Because we lived in Detroit. Called me one, too, until Ian started being my friend. The kids, they all tell Evie she's here because Jack Mayer stole Julianne Robison. Or maybe Uncle Ray took her. They say one of them's bound to steal Evie next."

"They say that to Evie?" Celia drops back against the kitchen counter.

Arthur shakes his head. Reesa makes a clucking sound.

"She sits by herself every day. At recess. Lunch. Everywhere. She's so small. They call her names. Tell her she's too small for Kansas. Sometimes Miss Olson sits with her at lunch. But Evie just pretends Miss Olson is Aunt Eve. Miss Olson isn't so small, though."

Ruth steps up to Celia's side. Her body is warm and she smells like Elaine's lavender lotion.

"How did I not know this?" she says to Ruth. "How could she be so unhappy and I not know?"

"She wasn't unhappy," Daniel says. "As long as she had Aunt Eve. That's why she took all that stuff. I guess that's why she wore the dress. But now she doesn't even have Aunt Eve. I think she's kind of scared about getting taken like Julianne. And she feels pretty bad about Olivia, too." He takes a few more steps away when Celia pushes off the counter. He shakes his head. "I understand though, about it being the kindest thing. To kill her, I mean. Just wish I hadn't left that gate open."

Arthur glances up at Celia before lowering his head to talk into the tabletop. "Cows like that get out all the time," he says. "They're jumpers. Could have jumped out."

Daniel stares at Arthur, not like a boy looks at his father, but like one man looks at another. Arthur tries to hold the stare long enough and hard enough that Daniel will believe Olivia was a jumper, but he can't manage it. He drops his eyes.

"I don't want to go to Ian's tomorrow," Daniel says, still staring at the top of Arthur's head.

Celia nods. "Certainly, Daniel. Whatever you want. Get some rest now. I'll call you when dinner's ready."

When Mama calls him to dinner, Daniel says he's too tired. Even when Mama opens the door a sliver and offers him a plate of Aunt Ruth's stewed chicken, Daniel rolls away and says no. Now, he can hear them, all of them, in the kitchen, their silverware clattering on the table, pots and pans being pa.s.sed from place to place. They are probably talking about poor Evie and Daniel who have no friends. They probably think Evie is sick because she wore Aunt Eve's dress to school and that Daniel will never grow to be a man. He should have pulled the trigger and shot Olivia. No matter how stiff and heavy, no matter what kind of mess he would have made, he should have pulled it. That's what a man would have done. He would have carried the weight of that shotgun on his shoulder and pulled the G.o.d d.a.m.n trigger.

Rolling over again and staring at the light shining under his door, Daniel hopes Ian will go pheasant hunting without him. He hopes Ian can be a pusher and that his black boots will help him keep up with his brothers. Maybe they'll do well, shoot a dozen birds or so, and then Jacob, the oldest Bucher brother, who only comes home on occasional weekends, will toss them all in his truck and drive to Nicodemus so they can flush out Jack Mayer. Maybe Ian will even get a shot at old Jack Mayer. Through the sight on his dad's shotgun, Ian will spot the man who's big as a mountain and black as midnight, and he'll take a shot. Even if he misses, even if Jack Mayer slips away because he's dark as night, Ian will have gotten off a shot and he'll never be quite as crooked again. And Daniel is Ian's friend, his best friend. Daniel will never be a city kid again if Ian gets off a good shot.

Chapter 24.

Celia props the last dish in the drying rack, hangs her dish towel on the hook over the sink, and taking one last look around the kitchen to make sure everything is in its place, she flips off the light. Daniel and Evie's rooms are quiet, have been since dinner. Daniel didn't eat a bite. Celia will make pancakes for breakfast-his favorite. A light still shines in Elaine's room where she and Ruth are quietly talking, probably planning the bodice for Elaine's wedding dress or picking the flowers for her bouquet. Elaine thinks lilies but Ruth likes carnations. Checking that someone locked the back door and giving the deadbolt an extra tug, even though Arthur has twice done the same thing, Celia walks toward her bedroom and meets Arthur as he comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, the steam from a hot shower following him.

His skin is thicker since they moved to Kansas, like a hide. His face and neck are dark, his hands rough, his back and chest broad. Celia touches his collarbone as she slips past him into their bedroom. He smells of soap. He takes her hand, stops her, makes her look up at him. She knows what he wants. He wants Celia to believe in him, to trust him. Laying her hand flat on his chest, she closes her eyes, breathes in the warm air about his body and prepares to tell him the truth. While he was in the shower, she called Floyd, even after Arthur said it would do no good, that it would only stir up Ray, stir up more trouble. She called Floyd and told him that Ray tried to take her little girl. She lied to Arthur and she was hateful to him, if only in her thoughts. Not once, not ever, in all their years together, has she been so hateful. Not even when Arthur brought home the new truck and lashed her Detroit life to it, did she have a hateful thought. She made herself trust him then and she wants the same now. More than anything, she wants to trust him.

Pulling their door closed, Arthur backs Celia toward the bed. As she lowers herself, Arthur standing before her, she lifts her hands and lays them on his stomach, bending her fingers, gently denting his dark skin with her nails. If he is more of a man now, then she is more of a woman. When they lived in Detroit, Arthur wore a starched shirt to church, shined his shoes once a week and sat for a haircut every fourth Tuesday. Celia wore pearls on Sundays and set her table with pressed linens. But here in Kansas, Arthur's shirts are fraying at the collars and cuffs and Celia's pearls are packed away in a box in her top dresser drawer. They are different, both of them.

Letting her hands slide down Arthur's flat stomach, Celia pulls apart the towel at his waist. She needs him to make her feel clean again because the showers and shampoo and soap did not. She needs Arthur to make her forget the way Ray looked at her or the feel of him grinding himself into her thigh, to make her forget the thought of Ray with her little girl, his dirty hands touching Evie's yellow hair. Clawing Arthur's back, she draws him down on top of her and buries her face in his shoulder where the muscle dips into his neck. He pulls her skirt up, presses aside the crotch of her cotton panties, and forces himself inside of her with one quick motion. The pain lasts only an instant. His movements are quick, fierce, almost angry. Pressing his face into the mattress, he m.u.f.fles a groan. And then his breathing quiets. He shudders and is still. Celia needs something more, wants something more. But it's over.

Waiting until Arthur has rolled off her, Celia inhales a full breath, sits up, unb.u.t.tons her blouse and skirt and pushes them to the floor. The night air chills her damp skin where it was pressed against Arthur. Kansas has made her body harder, like it was when she was younger. Her stomach is flat again though marred by silvery white lines where it stretched for her babies. Her hips are soft and white, but narrow, slimmer than they were in Detroit. She reaches for Arthur's hand and places it on her left breast, holding it there until he begins to roll her nipple between two fingers. He breathes faster again, slips the same hand between her legs and presses apart her knees. Celia lies back, exhaling and not hearing the dry gra.s.s that crackles outside her window.

Evie rolls on one side, afraid to close her eyes because every time she does, she remembers the red silky inside of Olivia's neck and the black blood that she lay in. Daniel tried to cover her eyes before she saw but he was too slow. Evie always thought blood was red. Now she wonders why babies are blue and cows bleed black blood. She should have asked Uncle Ray. He is more of a cowboy than Daddy. Uncle Ray would know about blue babies and black blood, but he didn't want to talk much on the ride home. He didn't even ask about Aunt Eve's dress even though it stuck out from under the bottom of Evie's coat. She saw him looking at the blue ruffles. Mostly, Uncle Ray looked like he hadn't slept a single night in his whole life.

"Girl ought to wear trousers when it's so cold" is the only thing he said.

Thinking that next time she sees Uncle Ray she'll ask him about black blood, Evie rolls over and looks at the drawer where she hid the picture of Aunt Eve and Uncle Ray. Mama made her return the rest of Aunt Eve's things to Grandma Reesa and she has to write an apology letter on Mama's best stationery so they can send it through the mail. Mama doesn't know Evie kept the picture.

Across the kitchen, Mama's bed creaks. Sometimes, when the house is dark, Evie hears it. Mama always says they are making up the bed with clean sheets. Tucking in hospital corners, straightening the quilt, fluffing the pillows. Soon enough, Mama is done tucking her sheets and the house is quiet again. Maybe Evie can sleep without closing her eyes. Cows do that sometimes, or is it horses? Another question for Uncle Ray. But Evie isn't a cow or a horse. She tries closing her eyes. First one, then the other. Everything is black for a moment and then she hears a knock. Maybe Mama is making the bed again. Evie opens her eyes and sits up. She hears another quiet knock. Tapping on gla.s.s. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Someone is at the back door. Someone is at the back door.

[image]

Daniel wants to bang on his wall. He wants to punch a hole all the way through to Elaine's room and into her fat mouth. She and Aunt Ruth are still whispering about the wedding. All night long, probably all through dinner, and even now when they should be sleeping. Elaine doesn't care one d.a.m.n bit that Olivia died. She doesn't care that Evie wore Aunt Eve's dress to school or that everyone calls Evie a n.i.g.g.e.r lover. She doesn't even care that Evie almost got swiped like Julianne Robison. All she cares about is studying and finishing high school so she can have the wedding that she spends all night, every night, planning with Aunt Ruth. Daniel sits up, lunges toward the wall he shares with Elaine, pulls back his fist, ready to punch a hole all the way into her room, when he hears a knock. The last time Mama checked on him, he pretended he was asleep so she left his door ajar. Unwrapping his fist and dropping his hand to his side, Daniel walks to his open door and listens. Yes, someone is knocking.

Ruth keeps talking, thinking that Elaine won't notice the quiet creaks coming from Celia and Arthur's end of the house. She gathers the fabric at Elaine's waist with the fingers that stick out of her sling and weaves a straight pen into the satin sash. "That should do it," she says as Elaine m.u.f.fles a laugh. "Now, be still." Ruth ignores the giggle. With so much to be sad about that day, the laughter is sweet. "I can't keep taking this in. You need to eat better. You'll waste away to nothing by the wedding if you're not careful." She folds over another patch of loose fabric farther down Elaine's hip and this time when she smiles at the quiet creaks, it's because they make her feel that maybe things will be fine again. In these quiet moments, the house binds together.

"Will that do?" Ruth says, patting Elaine's hip and looking past her into the mirror on the back of the door.

Elaine so resembles Celia, though her features are dark like Arthur's. Still, she has her mother's long, soft waves, and even late at night, her eyes and cheeks shine the same way Celia's did when she smiled at Arthur through a cascading white veil.

"Perfect," Elaine says. "Just perfect."

The creaking stops and the house is quiet.

"Let me help you," Ruth says as Elaine wiggles out of her wedding dress.

"I need to use the restroom first," Elaine says, stepping off her stool and reaching for the doork.n.o.b as she hops from side to side.

She must have been holding it, waiting for the creaking to stop. They both begin with a smile before breaking into giggles.

"I can't wait anymore." Trying to m.u.f.fle her laughter, Elaine opens the door a crack. "Did you hear that?" she says, turning toward Ruth.

"Sounds like someone is on the porch."

"Who would come so late?" Elaine says, and stepping out of her dress, she slips on a robe.

Ruth waves Elaine aside. With one hand pressed to her full, round belly, she says, "I'll have a look."

Celia opens her eyes. She rolls her head toward the dark window. No moonlight. No sparkling Battenburg lace curtains. Next to her, Arthur's eyes are closed. Covering her bare chest with one arm, Celia sits up and feels for the quilt. She finds it at the end of the bed and tugs but it is tangled in Arthur's feet. She tugs again, causing his eyes to open, and she hears it. A knock at the back door. She drops the quilt.

"Arthur," Celia whispers, poking his shoulder. Yes, she hears a knock. Louder now. "Arthur, did you hear that?"

Arthur rolls on his back to see Celia leaning over him, barechested. He lets out a quiet moan and reaches for both b.r.e.a.s.t.s.