Walking into the center of the gravel drive, Daniel turns in a slow circle. Mr. Murray’s old rusted car is still parked behind the garage. Mama complains about it, says it’s dangerous to have around with young children in the house, but Dad says the children aren’t so young anymore and he’ll get to it when he gets to it. Next to the garage, near the fence line, stands the chicken coop that Dad and Jonathon started to build. Halfway through, Mama said no chickens because she saw the mess they left at Grandma Reesa’s and because she didn’t want to have any more dead chickens hanging in her yard. Dad told Jonathon he could have the wood if he’d tear it down.
Beyond the three-sided chicken coup, and opposite the garage, the barn seems to lean more than it did when they moved in. Wondering who or what is hiding out there, Daniel wishes he had grabbed his rifle. But what if it is Julianne? What if Jack Mayer stashed her in there? More than ever, Daniel wishes Mama would have slammed into Jack Mayer at the top of Bent Road. But Ian’s right. Mama must not have hit him, at least not directly, because he swiped Julianne Robison and a dead man couldn’t do that. If Mama would have hit Jack Mayer, Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally shooting Julianne and blowing her head off like he did when he shot that prairie dog.
Twice, in the week since he killed that animal, Daniel has gone shooting with Ian. He can sneak the gun out and return it, tucked back in the gun cabinet, fingerprints wiped off the glass, lock snapped in place, before Dad gets home from work. Shooting tin cans and glass bottles instead of prairie dogs, Ian says Daniel is a good shot, a damn good shot. Ian says that if Daniel practices a lot, almost every day, he will be the best shot of any kid around. Daniel wants to run back to get that gun but it seems so far away now. He hears the sound again, a loud thud coming from the side of the house near the kitchen window.
Taking slow, quiet steps, Daniel slides one foot in a sideways direction and meets it with the other as he walks in an arch that will lead him around the side of the house. He looks behind and ahead, behind and ahead, and at the edge of the boundary laid down by the porch light, he stops and listens. In between wind gusts, he hears something crushing small patches of dry grass. There is a rustling sound, another thud, his own heartbeat. He leans to his right, peering around the side of the house without stepping outside the yellow light. He leans farther, bending forward and bracing himself with one hand on his knee. Something moves. A dark shadow. Daniel stumbles, stands straight and presses a hand over his heart.
He knows now that Sheriff Bigler didn’t haul Uncle Ray off to Clark City but that he is living in Damar for as long as William Ellis will keep him, hopefully until he’s dried out. When Daniel thought his uncle was locked up, he imagined Uncle Ray might escape like Jack Mayer and live off stolen leftovers. Before he knew Uncle Ray was living far away in Damar, Daniel would lie awake at night, listening for him. He would imagine opening his eyes and seeing Uncle Ray’s face pressed against his window, his breath fogging the glass so Daniel couldn’t quite see which way that bad eye was pointing. But Damar was a whole other town and Uncle Ray was with a whole other family. This is when Daniel began to imagine Jack Mayer’s face pressed against his window. His breath would be cold and wouldn’t fog the glass like Uncle Ray’s. Then Christmas got closer, and Mama said the best store for wool fabric was in Damar, and since she needed a new dress for the holidays and Damar was only a few miles away, the whole family should go. Now, standing in the middle of the gravel drive, the thud ringing in his ears, Daniel doesn’t know if he should be afraid of Uncle Ray, who isn’t living so far away, or Jack Mayer.
His heart has begun to beat so loudly that Daniel isn’t sure if he hears the next sound. If he had been sure, he wouldn’t have looked around the corner again. Instead, he would have waited and listened or maybe run for the house, but his beating heart is like cotton in his ears, so he braces himself again and leans forward. Even though the maple that grows along the side of the house is bare, all of its leaves raked up and burned in the trash barrel, the moonlight shining through the empty branches is not enough to light up anything that might be hiding. The light from the kitchen throws shadows on the nearest branches but doesn’t reach any farther. If the something is still there, hiding under the window, it isn’t moving now, and Daniel can’t tell it apart from the rest of the darkness. He takes a step forward, watching, listening, and the shadow shifts again.
Holding his breath, Daniel thinks he hears something. It sounds like metal clanking against metal, like a chain tangled up with itself. He crouches down, pressing both palms on the ground. The back door doesn’t seem so far away now. He could run to it, reach it in a dozen steps, but he can’t move. Yes, that is the sound of a tangled-up chain, broken handcuffs. He hears breathing-heavy, hot, long breaths-and footsteps crushing dry dead grass, footsteps kicking up gravel.
Hoping to see that Aunt Ruth and Mama are watching him through the screened door, he glances at the porch, but sees no one. Aunt Ruth’s stomach is beginning to swell but she covers it with aprons and Elaine’s skirts that she cinches up at the waist with safety pins. “You’re in charge,” Dad had said to Daniel before leaving. Mama had smiled and brushed the hair from his eyes. For a moment, Daniel imagines Julianne is sneaking around the side of the house. He could be the one to find her. He’d be a hero and kids would like him without even caring how good of a shot he is. Daniel drops his head again, knowing the breathing and chains and footsteps are closer even though his heartbeat has filled his ears. He decides it can’t be Julianne because she wouldn’t be wrapped in chains. He inhales, raises his eyes first and next his chin. Still crouched, his palms pressed to the ground, he cries out and falls backward.
“God damn,” he says. “Good God damn already.”
Standing at the corner of the house, her head inside the yellow cone of light, Olivia the cow looks down on Daniel. She seems to nod at him, and then she drops her snout to nuzzle the cold, hard ground. Her lead dangles from the red leather neck strap, the buckle and bolt-snap rattling like loose chain. Dad will be angry if he sees someone forgot to take it off.
“Good God damn.”
Chapter 12
Over and over in her head and a few times aloud, Celia says, “It’s the wind. Nothing but the wind.” But she isn’t sure. In Detroit, she feared firebombs, tanks and the Negro boys who called Elaine, none of which banged up against the side of her house. Being so new to Kansas, she isn’t sure what she should be afraid of, but whatever it is, it is walking through her yard. Shivering because she is wearing only a thin cotton dress and no stockings on her feet, she leans forward. On the other side of the screened door, across the driveway, Daniel sidesteps around the house. If he goes much farther, she’ll lose him in the dark. Behind her, Ruth and Evie huddle together inside the back door that Celia made them lock. She cups her hands together and blows hot breath inside them to warm herself.
“Can you see him?” Evie calls from inside. Through the frosty pane of glass, her voice is muted. She has wrapped both arms around Ruth’s waist and must be standing on her tiptoes to see out the window.
Celia reaches to open the screened door, but Evie cries out and presses her face into Ruth’s side.
“Okay, okay,” Celia says, letting go of the cold handle and leaning forward until she feels the imprint of the mesh screen against her right cheek. “There he is. I see him.” Exhaling a deep breath and motioning for Ruth to open the back door, she says, “It’s Olivia. Olivia got out again.”