"Yes, but I just went out to the shed," Sister explained. "Wasn't gone more'n a few minutes. Went to get a box of Christmas decorations, seeing as how Novalee and Forney were bringing a tree."

"So whoever took the baby came in the front and went out the front."

"Had to. I would've seen 'em if they'd come in the back. Shed's not twenty feet away from the back door."

"But when you came back in . . ."

"She was gone." Sister's voice broke then and she grabbed Novalee's hand. "Oh, darlin'."

185.

"Was anything else missing? Jewelry? Money?"

"No, I don't have nothing except for my wheat pennies, right there on the sideboard." Sister pointed to a jar filled with coins.

"Did you notice anything unusual today? Anyone strange in the neighborhood? A car you didn't recognize? Anything like that?"

"No. Not that I can remember."

The policeman turned to Novalee, giving her a stiff smile. "Miss Nation, will you describe your little girl for me?"

"I have lots of pictures."

"Good. But I'm going to need a written description, too."

"Well, she weighs nineteen pounds. She has green eyes and light brown hair that grows . . . like this." Novalee blinked back tears as she touched her own hairline to ill.u.s.trate. "In a widow's peak."

"How old is she?"

"Seven months," she said. "Seven." And her mouth burned with a bitter taste, the taste of something scorched and dry. She had been hovering over Americus for days trying to get past that seven, then had risked it all for a Christmas tree.

The policeman wrote down everything Novalee said in a small notebook.

"Is there anyone you can think of who might have taken your daughter?"

Novalee squinted as if she were trying to "see" the question, to bring it into focus.

"Anyone who might be mad at you," he said, "or jealous. Someone who might have a score to settle?"

"No." Novalee bit at her lip. "No, I can't think of anyone."

"Miss Nation, you think there could be any connection between this and your baby being born at Wal-Mart?"

186.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was all over the news . . . on the TV, in the papers. Lots of people knew about it. And I suppose some of them wrote to you?

Called you on the phone?"

"Yes. They did."

"Did you hear anything strange? A threat of any kind? I mean, there are some real crazies out there."

"I got a few letters like that. People who said they wished I'd died.

Me . . . and Americus, too."

Novalee was gripped by a sudden chill that left her weak and trembling. Forney picked up an afghan from the couch and put it around her shoulders.

"Did you keep any of those letters?" the policeman asked.

"No, not the mean ones. I didn't keep those."

"Do you remember any of the names? The signatures on those letters?"

"They weren't signed."

"So you can't think of anyone who might want to hurt you or maybe just scare you by taking your daughter."

Novalee shook her head.

"How about the baby's father?"

"Who?"

"Your baby's father."

The words came spinning at her. "Baby's father." Novalee was stunned to realize that she had never, not once since Americus was born, let herself think of w.i.l.l.y Jack as "the baby's father."

"Have you seen him?" the policeman asked.

"No."

187.

"Any idea where he is?"

"I don't know. California, I guess."

"You know where we can reach his family?"

"He has a cousin in Bakersfield. And his mother lives in Tellico Plains, in Tennessee. But that's all I know."

"And what's his name . . . the father?"

"w.i.l.l.y Jack Pickens," she said. Then she began to tremble again.

While the police poked around outside, their flashlight beams crisscrossing the yard, neighbors slipped into the trailer, bringing sandwiches and pitchers of spiced tea. They spoke quietly and dabbed at red eyes as they squeezed Novalee's shoulder and patted Sister Husband's hand.

The oldest Ortiz girl brought Novalee dried rose petals from her communion corsage while her two younger sisters cried almost soundlessly as they sat on Forney's lap. Mr. Ortiz prayed in Spanish while his wife worried at a rosary, shaking her head in sad disbelief.

Henry questioned everybody about a blue Ford he'd seen earlier in the day; Leona read a poem on faith that she had cut from an Ann Landers column. Dixie Mullins said she had had a premonition because of a conversation with her dead husband earlier in the week.

They tried to tempt Novalee to eat and encouraged her to rest.

They offered help with money and the promise of more food, but they knew that what Novalee needed was something they couldn't give, so, one by one, they slipped outside to stand in the yard and wait.

Sister put on another pot of coffee, the third of the night. Novalee handed a pad and pen to Forney.

"Will you make the list? I'm too shaky to write."

188.

"Sure."

"Okay," Novalee said as she pulled the afghan tight around her shoulders. "There's a woman at work doesn't like me much. She wanted the job I've got. But I really don't think she'd take Americus.

She's close to retirement. Besides, she teaches Sunday School."

"Darlin', old women who teach Sunday School got just as much meanness in 'em as the rest of us, I'm afraid," Sister Husband offered.

"The policeman said to write down anybody who might be trying to get even with you," Forney said.

"All right. Her name's Snooks Lancaster."

Forney wrote the name on the pad Novalee had given him.

"Now. Let's see. There was a guy named Buster Harding stole a waffle iron from a cafe where I worked once. Said he was going to get me because I told the boss and got him fired. But that was almost four years ago. I can't imagine Buster would know where I am now."

"You never know," Sister said. "All that publicity, he could've seen you on the TV."

"Can you think of anyone else here in town, anyone you've met since you've been here?" Forney lowered his eyes, pretending to study the two names on the list. "Like that guy you go out with."

"Troy Moffatt? I don't go out with him anymore."

"He still calls here sometimes," Sister said. "Won't leave his name, but I know his voice."

"Would he have something against you, Novalee?"

"Well, he might, but . . ."

"Then maybe I'd better add his name to the list."

"Okay, but I don't know any reason he'd take Americus. Truth is, I don't know why anyone would."

189.

When the Gremlin parked in Sister's driveway, the policemen cl.u.s.tered near the street eyed Lexie suspiciously until one of them recognized her as she climbed out of the car.

She charged across the yard and onto the porch, then stopped just short of the door. Taking a deep breath, she tried to strip the concern from her face, but as she walked in and wrapped Novalee in her arms, she couldn't hide the fear in her voice.

"Have you heard anything yet?"

Novalee shook her head. "Not a word.

"How long has she been gone?"

"Long enough to be scared. Long enough to be sick. Or hurt."

"Do you know-"

"I don't know anything, Lexie. I don't know where she is or who she's with. I don't know if she's cold, if she's hungry."

"I'll bet she's fine, honey." Lexie twisted her lips into a smile that felt wired to her mouth, but it was the best she could manage. "I'll bet whoever has her is taking good care of her."

"You do?"

"Yeah, 'cause the woman who took her-"

"A woman? You think a woman took Americus?"

"Well, the police think so, I guess. They got everyone at the hospital going through admission records."

"What for?"

"They're looking at OB-GYN admissions. Every woman who's miscarried or still-birthed a baby."

"But lots of women miscarry without going to a hospital. And even if she did, there must be-"

190.

"They're gonna find her, Novalee. I know they're gonna find her."

Sister had called Mr. Sprock shortly after the police left, but he was at the pool hall playing moon until ten-thirty. When she did reach him, he came right on over.

He kissed them all when he arrived, even Forney, and his eyes reddened every time someone spoke Americus' name. He carried a handkerchief, kept it near his mouth and talked only in whispers.

He took over jobs wherever he found them-emptied the trash, kept the coffee brewing, wiped up crumbs and swiped at coffee rings.

When Forney said they needed a calendar, Mr. Sprock took one from the wall and spread it out before them at the kitchen table.

"Let's see," Sister said. "I delivered one Welcome Wagon basket on Monday morning, before Novalee went to work. Then I worked at the IGA pa.s.sing out cheese puffs on Wednesday."