Route 60, leading Daniel and Jonathon fifteen miles southwest, was plowed sometime during the night, but as the snow continues to fall, a fresh layer, blowing like thick fog, covers the narrow road. Still, the chains on Jonathon's tires rattle over the hard, frozen ground. Outside, snowflakes fall in a heavy white curtain, larger and fluffier then they were at home. Squinting into the white haze, Daniel tries to follow one flake all the way to the ground.

"Here we go," Jonathon says, slowly rolling the steering wheel, his leather gloves stiff as he pa.s.ses one hand over the other.

He pulls off the main road where a rusted mailbox hangs from a wooden post. The fresh, unplowed snow quiets the chains.

"Haven't seen this old place in years."

Daniel leans forward, both hands resting on the dashboard. The small two-story farmhouse has a flat roof and a wrap-around porch. Other than a single barren tree standing in front and to the side of the house, the landscape is empty. Flat, snow-covered fields stretch as far as the horizon in every direction. The snow makes everything crisp and new, tidy. It's as if Norbert Brewster and his wife never left the house, or perhaps it's as if they never lived there at all.

"Doesn't anyone live here?" Daniel asks.

"Not since Norbert lost his wife and moved to town. Couple years back, at least." Jonathon throws the car into park and leans over the steering wheel. "Let's have a quick look around. Doesn't seem to be much worth saving," he says and looks up at the thick white layer of snow on the flat roof. Grabbing his toolbox from the center seat, he climbs out of the truck.

The icy stairs creak when they walk up them to the porch. Standing at the front door, Daniel shoves his hands in his coat pockets while Jonathon fumbles with the key that Norbert Brewster gave him. The emptiness of the snow-covered fields surrounding the house makes Daniel think of Clark City. Jack Mayer would have come across this house first when he escaped, even before the Scott house, but if he did stop here, looking for food or anything else, he wouldn't have found it.

"Got it," Jonathon says. He steps inside, stomping his boots on the threshold even though no one lives here anymore, and Daniel follows closely behind, stomping his boots, too. Their heavy footsteps echo in the empty house and something scurries.

Jonathon winks at Daniel. "Rats, I suppose." He takes a few steps into the entryway, and stops. "Well, that's a shame," he says.

Daniel looks off to the right where Jonathon is looking. A snowdrift, littered with leaves and dirt, has spilled through a broken picture window into what was once the dining room.

"Might have pulled up those oak floors," Jonathon says, setting his toolbox on the third step of the stairway leading to the second floor. He opens it and hands Daniel a screwdriver. "Take a look around up there," he says, nodding up the stairs. "If you find a decent door, take it down. Give a shout if you need a hand. I'm going to see about the kitchen cabinets."

Daniel steps into the wide entry that leads into the dining room. A gust of wind catches him in the face. He shivers. Most of the gla.s.s in the picture window is gone. Only a few pieces hang from the top of the frame. They are called shards. Daniel knows because that's what Dad called them after Uncle Ray broke their window. Dad knocked those shards loose with a hammer and boarded up the window with sc.r.a.ps of plywood from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Looks to have been broken a long time," Daniel says, watching Jonathon rummage for another screwdriver. Maybe he isn't so bad. It's not his fault he's always the extra set of hands.

"No telling," Jonathon says and walks toward the back of the house. "Holler if you find anything worth keeping."

Evie sits on the edge of Aunt Ruth's bed, swinging her feet so the bedsprings creak and watching Aunt Ruth try to thread a needle. She is still sleeping in Evie's room, but once Elaine gets married to Jonathon, Aunt Ruth and her baby will live in Elaine's old room.

"You know your mother doesn't like you doing that," Aunt Ruth says.

Evie glances at Aunt Ruth, offers no response and the bed continues to squeak.

Aunt Ruth misses the needle's eye with her thread for a second time and smiles. "Light's not so good today," she says. "Would you like to try?"

"Daddy says Olivia won't die all the way until spring."

Aunt Ruth lowers the needle and thread. "What do you suppose he means by that?"

"He said things don't all the way die when it's so cold outside. He said she'll finishing dying in spring. He said she'll sink into the ground and come back as a tree or something."

Aunt Ruth rests both hands in her lap. "I guess I understand that."

Evie nods. "Yeah, me, too." She stops swinging her feet. "Was it cold outside when Aunt Eve died?"

Aunt Ruth wraps her thread around the small bolt and lays it and the needle on her bedside table. "It was warm," she says. "A beautiful time of year."

"Is she all the way dead now?"

"Yes, she is."

Evie leans back on both arms and begins to swing her legs again so that her feet bounce off the box frame. "I saw Uncle Ray at church," she says. "He was visiting a grave." She stops swinging. "Is Aunt Eve's grave there? Was he visiting Aunt Eve?"

Aunt Ruth flips on the lamp near her bed, opens the small drawer in her nightstand and lifts out two round stones.

"Perhaps," she says, holding the stones in the palm of her hand. "I suspect he was."

[image]

Daniel stops at the top of the stairs where a long hallway leads to the far end of the house. While the downstairs felt like a barn because of the wind blowing through the broken window and the leaves and dirt scattered about the wooden floors, the upstairs feels like a home, like he might find Mrs. Brewster living right behind one of the five doors that line the hallway. He takes a step toward the first room, slowly, carefully, leading with his toe and only rolling back onto his heel when the wooden floor doesn't bow underfoot.

Grabbing the k.n.o.b on the first door with two fingers, he gently pushes and pulls, testing the hinges. They creak but swing freely. He takes one step closer, testing the floors again with his toe, and inspects each hinge. They are tarnished and black but Jonathon will want them. He'll scrub them with acid and a toothbrush and by the time he hangs them in Elaine's and his house, they'll be like new. Before continuing, he knocks on each of the door's six panels, happy to be doing something that doesn't involve Mama's rubber gloves and a bucket of soapy water. Solid. Yep, Jonathon'll want this one.

Pushing open the second door, Daniel coughs at the dust kicked up and squints into the light that spills across the hallway. A bathroom. Better paint job on this door. Frame is in good shape. Hinges look the same. The third and fourth are keepers, too, making Daniel wonder how many doors Jonathon needs for his new house. The biggest bedroom, which was behind the first door, was empty, but the smaller two still have furniture in them-dressers, a rocking chair, two single beds-all covered with white sheets.

Daniel steps into the second small bedroom and carefully pulls the sheet from a rocking chair. He coughs and waves away the rising dust. Evie would like the red-checkered seat cushion, even if the rocking chair might be too big for her. Maybe, if Norbert Brewster doesn't want it anymore, Dad will come back with his truck after the snow melts and take the chair home for Evie. It might make her forget about Olivia rotting away in the back pasture and Aunt Eve being dead and Julianne Robison still missing. Before draping the sheet back over the chair, Daniel looks at the ceiling and hopes it won't cave in on Evie's chair before they can come back for it. Black mold seeps out from each corner and a single crack runs the length of the room. He backs away from the rocker, watching the snowfall through a dirty window.

Once outside the room, Daniel looks down the hallway to the last door. All of them are fine, and after Jonathon gets through with them, the hinges will be fine, too. Taking a few steps toward the staircase, Daniel calls down to Jonathon.

"Got five good ones up here," he shouts. "Hardware looks good, too."

"Did you say five?" Jonathon calls up. "Five? All in good shape?"

Daniel looks at the last door. "Yeah, five." He coughs.

"All have good hinges?" Jonathon calls back as he appears at the bottom of the stairs.

Daniel motions for Jonathon to come up and see for himself.

Celia takes two mugs from the cabinet overhead and fills them both with coffee. Reesa, sitting at the head of the kitchen table, st.i.tches the belt back onto the body of a lavender and green plaid ap.r.o.n. The fabric is faded and frayed at the seams.

"I've never seen that one before," Celia says, setting one of the mugs in front of Reesa.

"Haven't worn it." Reesa drapes the ap.r.o.n across her lap, demonstrating how little of her it protects. "Covered more of me when I was younger." She smiles, which makes Celia smile and realize that Reesa, after all these months, is making a joke. "Made from a feed sack," she says, holding the ap.r.o.n up again.

"From a feed sack?" Celia asks. "But it's such lovely fabric."

"Mother always picked the nicest ones for ap.r.o.ns. Different sack, different fabric."

"Do you have others?" Celia asks, looking at the bag sitting near Reesa's feet.

"Mmmm," Reesa says, meaning yes, and she lifts the bag into her lap. "Here's another." She holds up a blue calico bib ap.r.o.n with a solid blue ruffle sewn at the waistline. "Mother always liked ruffles. Here," Reesa says, handing the ap.r.o.n across the table to Celia. "This'll fit you still."

Celia frowns at the comment, thinking Reesa means that someday Celia will outgrow it, too.

"I couldn't, Reesa," Celia says. "Those are antiques. They're too special."

"Mmmm," Reesa says, again meaning yes.

While Reesa inspects the blue calico ap.r.o.n for torn seams, Celia takes a deep breath, and says, "Will you tell me about Eve?"

Reesa continues to run her fingers over the worn cotton, pulling the thin belt through two fingers and tugging when she gets to the end. "What's there to know?"

"Well, I'm not sure."

Behind Celia, her bedroom door is closed. Having been up late fixing the back window and watching for Ray, Arthur is taking a nap.

"Arthur is getting more . . . well, more angry. Don't you think? I'm worried about him. And about Ruth. It seems that . . . there is something else. Something I don't know."

"The child is gone. Dead and buried. Not much more matters, does it?"

"No, definitely not. But something is eating away at him. You see that. I know you do. He stayed away from here for so long."

Celia waits, but Reesa doesn't respond.

"He thinks he should have saved her, doesn't he? His father thought that, too. He blamed Arthur. Blamed Arthur for Eve's death."

Reesa pulls a spool of blue thread from her sewing case, wets one end by dabbing it on her tongue and, lifting her hands to catch the light coming through the kitchen window, she pokes it through the eye of her needle.

"Reesa," Celia says, leaning forward. "Please tell me what happened. I'm worried about what Arthur might do."

"What happened twenty-five years ago won't change what's happening today."

"Maybe it won't," Celia says. "Or maybe it will." She stops talking when Arthur walks out of the bedroom, running a hand through his dark hair.

"The boys back yet?" he says, b.u.t.toning his flannel shirt and walking past them toward the bathroom.

Celia looks at Reesa as she answers. "No, but soon I hope."

Reesa pulls off a yard of thread and ties one end in a knot. The bathroom door closes.

"I just can't help but worry," Celia says.

Daniel steps back as Jonathon walks up the stairs, carrying with him a small paper bag filled with hardware from the cabinets. "Here," he says, handing the bag to Daniel. "Cabinets are no good, but I got all of the handles and k.n.o.bs."

Daniel takes the bag, cradles it in one arm and points at the first door with his screwdriver. "Looks good to me," he says. "Sc.r.a.pe them and paint them. They'll be okay."

Jonathon nudges Daniel as he pa.s.ses by. "You're finally learning something worth learning, aren't you, city boy?"

They start with the closest door. Daniels holds it while Jonathon unscrews it from its hinges. The job is easy until only the bottom hinge is left attached and Daniel has to hold the door square so it doesn't bend the hinge and ruin it. He uses his legs for leverage and tries not to grunt so Jonathon won't know how heavy it is for Daniel.

Once they have removed the door from its frame, the two of them carry it down the stairs and prop it up in the foyer where the wind and snow can't get to it. Then they go back upstairs and do the same thing three more times. At the second small bedroom, Daniel asks Jonathon if he thinks Mr. Brewster would let them have the rocking chair for Evie. Jonathon says that he thinks a bottle of bourbon for Mr. Brewster would be a fair trade.

By the time there is only one door left, both Jonathon and Daniel have pulled off their coats and hats. "Just one more," Jonathon says. "We'll get it downstairs, wrap them up in a tarp or two and head on home."

At the end of the hallway, Daniel opens the last door enough to grab onto the edge with one hand while holding the k.n.o.b in the other. He waits while Jonathon unscrews the top hinge and braces himself as he pulls off the middle one. The door is instantly heavier. Daniel uses his legs to stabilize himself, and this time, he can't help the grunt that escapes him.

"Here," Jonathon says, taking part of the weight once he has removed the last screw. "Let's lay it down for a minute."

Daniel rests the bottom of the door on the floor and, following Jonathon's lead, he slowly lowers it, walking backward so it can lie down in the hallway.

"Good Lord," Jonathon says, dropping the door the last few inches.

The sudden movement makes Daniel stumble backward. When he catches his balance, Jonathon has already stepped over the door and taken two steps into the bedroom, blocking the entry. Daniel follows, slipping around Jonathon, stumbling again as he steps into the room.

"Jonathon," he says. "What is that? Is that . . ."

Sheets cover none of the furniture in this room. A dresser and chest of drawers stand on opposite walls and a lace curtain hangs in the room's only window. Bright white light spills inside, making the pale yellow walls shine. The snow is still falling. And there, its wrought-iron headboard centered on the largest wall, is a single bed made up with a white quilt that someone has carefully tucked around the remains of a very small person.

"Julianne Robison," Jonathon whispers. "After all these months. It's Julianne Robison."

Chapter 27.

Celia steps back, giving Ruth more room to roll out the noodle dough. Soon the white floury clump is nearly paper-thin and Ruth is dabbing her neck with a dish towel. She smiles at Celia, only half a smile really, and after pulling a tea towel from the top drawer, she drapes it over the noodles.

"They have to dry a bit now," she whispers.

Celia nods, and she and Ruth sit at the kitchen table with the others.

"Part of the roof had collapsed by the time we got back with the sheriff," Jonathon says. "Fellows from Clark City came out, too."

Arthur stretches and rests one arm on the back of Celia's chair. Ruth sits next to Reesa; Daniel, across the table from them.

Jonathon continues. "They had a hard time of it, getting up the stairs to find her."

Reesa shakes her head and makes a tsk tsk tsk tsk sound. Daniel props his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. His nose and cheeks are red and probably chapped, too. And Elaine, who was checking on Evie and making certain her door was shut tight, walks back to the table and stands behind Jonathon. sound. Daniel props his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. His nose and cheeks are red and probably chapped, too. And Elaine, who was checking on Evie and making certain her door was shut tight, walks back to the table and stands behind Jonathon.

"Floyd brought her down. Couldn't do much looking around, though. Wrapped her up tight as he could in that quilt of hers and brought her on down. Nothing left. Not a d.a.m.n thing of her left."

Celia presses her hand over her mouth. "Are they sure it's her?"

"Sure as they can be. She had blond hair. Looked more like dried straw, what was left of it. But Floyd, he said that means blond. And she was no more than a bit of a thing."

Ruth stands. Everyone stops talking.