"Just checking my noodles," she says, slipping behind Celia.

"So, what's next?" Arthur says. "Has anyone told Mary and Orville?"

"Floyd was going there straightaway from the house. Roads weren't so bad yet near town, so I'm sure he got there. Didn't want to bring them out to the house." Jonathon takes a sip of coffee that must have gone cold. "Funeral's next, I suppose."

Everyone around the table nods and Reesa makes her tsk tsk tsk tsk sound again. "How are those noodles coming along?" she asks Ruth, who is still staring at the counter. sound again. "How are those noodles coming along?" she asks Ruth, who is still staring at the counter.

"You know the strangest thing about it all?" Jonathon says, not really asking anyone in particular. "She's been there all along. The mattress, well . . ." He pauses, scans the table and whispers, "Floyd said it was stained, badly. From all the decomposition."

"Good Lord in heaven," Reesa says.

"But the quilt that was laid over her," Jonathon says, "it was clean. White as brand new. And the room. Spotless. Furniture dusted. Windows clean. But that quilt. That's the strangest of all. Clean as brand new."

Celia pushes back from the table and goes to stand with Ruth at the counter. "You all right?" she asks, touching Ruth's shirtsleeve.

Ruth nods that she is fine, and says, "Who would do such a thing? Who would do such a terrible, terrible thing?"

"Jack Mayer," Daniel says. "That's who."

A few days later, when the snowstorm has pa.s.sed and the trucks have cleared all the roads into town, Evie has to go back to school. Miss Olson called Mama on Sunday night to say all the teachers decided it best not to disrupt the children's lives anymore than they already had been. Julianne had been missing for such a long time, after all. Mama shook her head after she hung up with Miss Olson and told Evie and Daniel to rustle up some clean, warm clothes because Monday was a school day. few days later, when the snowstorm has pa.s.sed and the trucks have cleared all the roads into town, Evie has to go back to school. Miss Olson called Mama on Sunday night to say all the teachers decided it best not to disrupt the children's lives anymore than they already had been. Julianne had been missing for such a long time, after all. Mama shook her head after she hung up with Miss Olson and told Evie and Daniel to rustle up some clean, warm clothes because Monday was a school day.

On Evie's very first day of school in Kansas, everyone had known that she had to sit where Julianne Robison would have sat if she hadn't disappeared, because everyone had to sit in alphabetical order. Scott sat where Robison couldn't, but this morning, as Evie walks into cla.s.s, pulling off her coat and mittens, Miss Olson has mixed up all the desks. Some point forward, some sideways, some toward the back of the room. Most are still empty.

"Today is crazy mixed-up day," Miss Olson says. "Pick a seat, Evie. Pick any seat you like."

Evie hangs her coat on one of the hooks inside the door and walks past Irene Bloomer and John Atwell, toward the back of the room, wondering why Miss Olson mixed up all the desks, but she doesn't wonder for long. Miss Olson doesn't want anyone to know which desk would have been Julianne's if she wasn't dead. But Evie knows. She knows because she sat in it for the whole first part of the year. The pencil holder in Julianne's desk is covered with black scribbles and someone carved a five-pointed star in the bottom right corner. At the very back of the room, in one of the desks turned sideways, Evie sits. She lowers her head as the rest of the kids walk into cla.s.s, everyone giggling at the silly messed-up desks even though they're supposed to be sad about Julianne being dead. Some of them must remember this, because after they giggle a little, they cover their mouths and lower their heads, too.

After the second bell rings, Miss Olson tells everyone to settle down and turn their desks if they can't quite see the blackboard. Squeaks and squeals bounce around the room as everyone scoots until they can see Miss Olson. Once the room quiets again and Miss Olson begins to call attendance, Evie lays her index finger on the tip of the star, slowly traces each of its five points and wishes she could be dead like Julianne Robison. If she were dead, being small wouldn't matter because no one makes fun of a dead person. If she were dead, Julianne Robison could be her friend. If she were dead, she wouldn't have to miss Aunt Eve and Olivia.

Feeling tired, like he might never feel good again, Daniel walks into his cla.s.sroom, hangs his coat and hat in the closet at the back of the room and sits. Ian is there, teetering on the edge of his seat, waving at Daniel from four rows over. He wants to tell Daniel something but since Mrs. Ellenton separated them on the third week of school, he'll have to wait until lunch. Daniel waves back and presses a finger to his lips when Mrs. Ellenton walks into the room, her high heels clicking across the tile floor. From the front of the cla.s.sroom, she smiles at Daniel and tilts her head like people do when they feel sorry for someone.

At noon, Mrs. Ellenton dismisses the cla.s.s for lunch. Daniel doesn't wait for Ian like he normally would. Instead, he takes his bag-lunch from the shelf near the door and races through the halls with his head down because every kid in school is staring at him-the kid who saw Julianne Robison dead. He hears Ian calling out but his crooked legs can't keep up. The cold weather seems to have made Ian stiffer, like every step he takes is painful. If it were possible, Daniel would say Ian looked even smaller, like he shrunk during the snowstorm. Everything except his head. It seems to have grown, and Daniel rubs his own neck thinking how heavy Ian's head must be to carry around all day. Once inside the cafeteria, Daniel sits at his usual table, which seems to be more crowded today, and opens his lunch. When Ian finally sits, he is panting for air. His eyelids are gray and sunken into his head and a bluish tint surrounds his mouth.

"Hey," he says, tossing his lunch on the table. "What are you doing?"

All around the cafeteria, kids watch Daniel. Not one of them has been his friend all year, but now they all want to hear about Julianne Robison.

"Doing nothing," Daniel says. "Eating."

"So you found her. You really found her." Ian smiles at the full table and leans forward. "What'd she look like?"

Daniel shrugs. He sees Julianne every time he closes his eyes, but he thinks he's really seeing only what he imagines. Once Jonathon realized what they were looking at up there on the second story of Norbert Brewster's house, he grabbed Daniel's arm and shoved him back into the hallway, telling him to stay put, stay d.a.m.ned well put, until he could figure things out.

"Come on," Ian says, cupping his mouth with both hands so no one can hear what he's saying. "You got to tell me."

"She didn't look like anything," Daniel says, taking a bite from his sandwich but thinking if he chews or swallows, he'll vomit.

"Did it smell bad?" Ian asks, but then answers his own question. "I guess not, because of the cold. Frozen, huh?"

Daniel lifts his eyes, looking out from under his brow without moving his head. "Yeah."

"You know, most folks say your Uncle Ray did it." He leans forward and whispers, "But I still say it was Jack Mayer. Swiped her up the second he broke out. Swiped her up and killed her there in Brewster's old house."

Ian leans back and studies his lunch like he's thinking about eating it, but he pushes it farther away instead and closes his eyes. He sits that way, taking in deep breaths for a good long minute before opening his eyes, ready to go again.

"She's the first person murdered around here in twenty-five years," Ian says. "The first in twenty-five years." He waves at two of his brothers sitting at the other end of the table. They both jump up and sit back down next to Ian. Once they are settled, Ian starts talking again. " 'Course you know who the last person murdered was."

Daniel shakes his head and keeps eating even though he feels sicker with every bite.

" 'Course you know."

Both of Ian's brothers nod but neither says anything.

"It was your own Aunt Eve. Your dad's sister. You know that? Murdered right there in your Grandma's shed. Everyone says your Uncle Ray did it but they couldn't ever prove it."

Daniel stops chewing.

"Say he killed her same as Julianne. You know, blond like Julianne. A girl. Older, of course. But blond just the same. Say he couldn't help himself." Ian looks at his brothers again, like he's making sure he's telling everything right. Both brothers nod. "But I say it was Jack Mayer killed them both. Killed your aunt before they locked him up. And now Julianne, just the same, twenty-five years later."

"Shut up," Daniel says, holding half of his sandwich with both hands. "You don't know anything about my aunt. You shut up."

"Jacob remembers," Ian says, talking about his oldest brother who is grown with his own two kids and lives in Colorado. "He remembers when it happened. Told us all everything. Ma told him to hush up about it, but he told us anyway. Says it was exactly like Julianne. Except they found Eve Scott before she rotted all away. All bloodied up between the legs. Just like Julianne Robison. Right?"

Daniel didn't see much of Julianne, but he saw enough and heard enough from Jonathon to know Julianne didn't have any legs left to be bloodied up-nothing but bones.

"You knew about her, right?" Ian says. "You knew about Eve Scott?"

Daniel doesn't answer.

"Everyone else says it was your uncle. But I know it was Jack Mayer. I know it was. He bloodied them both up. Right there between the legs."

Daniel drops his peanut-b.u.t.ter-and-jelly sandwich, squishing it with his knee as he lunges across the table. He grabs Ian's collar and punches him square in the nose.

Chapter 28.

Celia feels Arthur behind her, his body so much broader and taller, shielding her from the northern wind. No snow has fallen in four days, so while Arthur and the other county workers have cleared the roads and driving is easy enough, the temperature has continued to fall and not a flake has melted. Fourteen inches of snow covered the ground by the end of the day that they found Julianne, and the wind has stirred up the landscape, driving the snow into five-foot drifts in some spots and leaving frozen barren ground in others. Inside the cemetery, snow disguises the graves that lie in St. Anthony's shadow, making them almost beautiful. Someone, probably the two black men standing near the fence line, waiting and smoking, shoveled a path from the gate to Julianne's gravesite and the area around. Still, Celia's feet are cold and damp and beside her, tucked under one arm, Evie shivers. Celia pulls her closer, letting Arthur shield them both.

Beside Evie, Daniel stands with his hands folded and his head lowered. The entire town is here, a sea of dark coats and hats that surround a tiny grave, lying in the shade thrown by three large pine trees. The pines' branches are thick and white and clumps of snow drip when the wind blows. Celia tries to think it is a lovely spot for Julianne, so much nicer with the trees and the view of the church than the newer section of the cemetery where Mrs. Minken was recently buried. Here, Julianne lies near the grandparents she never met. Here, she lies in a grave that was probably meant for her mother.

From their spot near the back of the crowd, Father Flannery's voice, fighting with the heavy wind, is no more than a broken few words. "Tender young life . . . accept G.o.d's will . . . forbidden . . . we powerless sinners . . ."

Arthur touches Celia's arm and points to a closer spot, but Celia shakes her head and squeezes Evie. She is afraid to go closer, afraid that whatever took Julianne might find its way to her family. After a brief silence, the mourners around Julianne's grave say "Amen" in tandem and, following their lead, though she can't hear Father Flannery, Celia makes the sign of the cross, nudging Evie to do the same.

Behind her, Celia feels Arthur make the sign across his chest and his deep voice echoes "Amen." She leans into him, letting the sound of him comfort her. As everyone parts, filtering down the narrow shoveled path toward the gate, Evie tugs on Celia's sleeve. In a whisper, she asks to go to Elaine, who is standing a few rows up with Jonathon, Ruth and Reesa. Celia nods, and watching until Elaine has wrapped both arms around Evie, she turns toward Arthur. He is gone.

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Daniel offers his arm to Mama because when Dad slipped behind him and started to walk away, he whispered for Daniel to take care of her. Mama takes Daniel's arm and smiles up at him. She does that now, smiles every time she has to crane her neck to see into his eyes, as if she's proud that he's finally become a man. Except maybe taller doesn't really mean he's a man yet. He hasn't fired a shotgun. He's still afraid of Jack Mayer and Uncle Ray, and he cries when he has to be alone at night and remember Julianne Robison lying under that white quilt. Being taller isn't all it takes to be a man. A man doesn't hit a crippled kid square in the nose. Only a boy does that, no matter how tall he is.

Watching the others leave, Daniel wonders if Ian told yet and if his pa will see Daniel standing there by Julianne's grave and come punch Daniel in the face for doing the same to Ian. Ian's brothers had picked him up from the ground after Daniel punched him, and one of them shoved a napkin under Ian's nose. Then they both looked at Daniel like they had never seen him before and dragged Ian, only his one good leg able to keep up, to the bathroom, where they cleaned him up so not even Mrs. Ellenton knew anything happened. Daniel doesn't see either of those brothers walking away from Julianne's grave. In fact, he doesn't see any Bucher brother, or Mr. or Mrs. Bucher or Ian. Maybe he should tell first. Maybe he won't get in as much trouble if he tells what Ian said about Aunt Eve getting bloodied between her legs and murdered in Grandma Reesa's shed. Watching Dad walk away from Julianne's grave, Daniel decides to tell because that's probably what a man would do.

[image]

Ruth reaches for Evie, but she slips into Elaine's arms instead and buries her face in Elaine's wool coat. Jonathon begins to say something, probably words of comfort. Ruth pats his hand, silencing him, and nods as if she understands why Evie can't love her right now. Then she steps away from the crowd, not liking the feeling that everyone is leaving Julianne cold and alone, not liking the feeling that everyone is leaving her. Many of these mourners for Julianne have come from the country-farmers who have probably checked every abandoned barn and deserted tractor, fearing that another tiny body will turn up. Some of them stare at Ruth, at the swell she can't hide beneath her coat anymore, because they haven't seen her, only heard. They look at her as if they think Ruth should be with a husband. They stare as if she is sinning against poor little Julianne and her parents. Orville and Mary wouldn't squabble. Mary wouldn't keep her baby from Orville. Orville and Mary have to witness their baby in a casket, withered away to nothing but bones. Orville and Mary, standing at their daughter's graveside, withered away themselves, the life gone out of them, two people as dead as the daughter they're burying. They wouldn't waste time thinking a beating was so bad. Ruth closes her eyes and lifts her face into the icy wind, hoping it will be easier to breathe, and when she opens her eyes, she sees Arthur wading through the deep snow, away from Julianne's grave. She holds one hand over her baby girl and follows.

Ruth has come here every week for twenty-five years, and she's watched the pines grow, first standing with them to her back on the day they buried Eve. They were green then, not snow-covered, and thin and widely s.p.a.ced. Now they've filled in and grown tall, their branches tangling together. The pines have always marked the way-two headstones to the north of the biggest pine, which was bigger than the rest even twenty-five years ago, and three headstones east. She doesn't have to count anymore, never really had to. Arthur must remember, too, or maybe he's been here to visit Eve since he came home. Maybe every week like Ruth. He seems to know the way as he steps through the smooth, clean snow and stops directly in front of Eve's grave. He looks back when he hears Ruth behind him and takes her hand. On the ground, a few feet ahead, stands a gray stone. EVE SCOTT. OUR DAUGHTER. OUR SISTER. OUR LOVED ONE. Ruth pulls off one of her brown gloves and reaches into her coat pocket. Pulling out two smooth rocks, she sidesteps along Eve's grave, through the snow, and lays them on top of the headstone.

"I always leave two," she says, stepping back to Arthur's side. "One for both of us, since you weren't always here. But you are now."

Arthur nods. "I couldn't come before," he says. "Before now."

"My stones were always missing," Ruth says. She feels Arthur watching her, but she keeps her eyes on Eve's headstone. "My two stones, every time I came to visit, they were gone. Strange. Don't you think?"

Again, Arthur nods.

"Ray was here that night, the night Julianne disappeared. He was here and he took my stones. All these years, I imagine. Why do you suppose he would do such a thing?"

"I hope to never know the answer to that," Arthur says and slips around Ruth to block the wind, taking her arm so that she won't fall.

But Ruth doesn't move to leave.

"He loved her," she says. "He would have been such a different man with her."

Arthur wraps an arm around Ruth. "Doesn't much matter what might have been."

"While she was here, while Eve was with us, she was happy because Ray loved her." Ruth takes Arthur's other hand, presses it between both of hers. "He would have been a different man."

"But he's not, Ruth." In the dry, cold air, Arthur's voice is as deep and raspy as Father's ever was. "He's not a different man. I'm sorry for it, but he's not."

Ruth lifts her chin, turns her face into the wind and nods that she is ready to go. Together, she and Arthur step out of the snow onto the cleared s.p.a.ce around Julianne's small grave. With all the other mourners gone, the tiny casket sits alone, waiting to be covered over by cold, frozen dirt. Two Negro men stand nearby, one of them stubbing out a cigarette in the snow, the other leaning on a shovel. Beside them lays a mound of dirt covered by a blue tarp. Ruth hadn't seen the open grave before because of the crowd of people, and seeing it now brings tears to the corners of her eyes.

"Come, Ruth," Celia says, stepping forward. "Let's get you home."

Standing near the gate, Jonathon holds Evie, who seems to be crying into his chest, and Daniel and Elaine stand next to him. At the head of the small grave, Reesa talks quietly with Father Flannery. As Arthur, Celia and Ruth walk past on their way toward the gate, Father Flannery steps forward.

"Ruth. Celia. Arthur," he says, bowing his head to greet them. "I was just mentioning to Reesa that we miss you fine folks at church."

"Been to church every Sunday, Father," Arthur says. "Haven't missed a one."

"I told Father Flannery that maybe we're getting tired of that drive to Hays. Don't you think, Arthur? Maybe we'll see him at St. Anthony's this Sunday."

Arthur continues on, holding Ruth's hand and reaching for Celia's. "St. Bart's is suiting me just fine. Nice to see you, Father. If you'll excuse us."

Reesa shakes her head.

"The gates to h.e.l.l are wide," Father Flannery says. "Much wider than those to heaven."

Arthur stops.

Father Flannery looks back toward Eve's grave. The wind has started to fill in the footsteps Ruth and Arthur left in the snow.

Arthur drops Ruth's hand, steps up to Father Flannery, and in an instant, Ruth knows. She realizes that all along, all these many years, Arthur has known the truth. He's known the truth about what killed Eve.

"Is there something you want to say to this family?" Arthur says to Father Flannery.

"My concern is for the child, Arthur. For the child and Ruth. I don't want to see things come to the same end."

"Arthur, he doesn't understand," Celia says, reaching for his arm. "Let's go."

"I understand that he's telling me Eve is in h.e.l.l."

"Arthur Scott," Reesa says. "He's saying no such thing."

But he is. Ruth knows he is. Father Flannery thinks Eve is in h.e.l.l because of what Ruth always feared Eve did to herself. Ruth presses both hands over her belly, protecting her sweet baby girl, sweet baby Elisabeth.

"That child died with a mortal sin on her soul. Would you have that for Ruth?"

Feeling as if Father Flannery can see inside her, Ruth takes two steps away. There was a moment, no longer than a blink, when she wondered if not having a baby would be best. This is what Father Flannery sees. Even now, all these months later, he can see inside and know that she once had the thought. She had considered it, for only a moment, in the very beginning, as it must have been for Eve.

"Eve died because of you and my father," Arthur says, jarring Ruth back to the present. "She died for fear of you and that church. For fear of her own father."

Celia is looking between Ruth and Arthur. As certain as Ruth is that Arthur knows, she is equally certain that Celia does not.

Father Flannery takes a step toward Arthur. "The gate is wide," he says, and after tipping his head at Reesa, he walks away.

Father Flannery walks down the narrow path, through the small gate and out onto the street in front of the church. When he has disappeared into his car, Celia turns to Arthur. He stands with his head down, shaking it back and forth, back and forth.

"I don't understand," Celia says. "Arthur. Ruth. I don't understand."

Ruth steps up to Arthur and takes his hand in both of hers. "You've always known?"

Arthur nods.

"Did she tell you who it was?"

This time, Arthur shakes his head no.