“How can you be so sure?” she says. “We should be cautious, more mindful.”
Outside, a truck rambles down Reesa’s driveway, stops and idles near the garage.
“Think your ride is here, Dan,” Jonathon says, stepping back from the table for a better view out the kitchen window. “Yep, it’s Gene Bucher.”
“Can I go, Mom?”
Celia nods, motioning for him not to forget his overnight bag.
“Your toothbrush is in the side pocket,” she calls out as the screened door slams. “And mind your manners.”
When the truck passes by on its way back to Bent Road, Arthur sits again, but this time, instead of pressing his back straight and sitting with one foot cocked over the opposite knee, he leans forward and rests his head in his hands.
“Ray didn’t do anything to Julianne Robison.” He looks up at Celia, holds her gaze. “He didn’t do it.” He stares at her until she lowers her eyes. “And please don’t you start talking about leaving,” he says, turning toward Ruth. “You know damn well I can’t have you living in this house.”
The meat crank stops.
“I’ll stay,” Ruth says. “But only if you promise to listen to Celia. Don’t be so sure of what you don’t really know.”
“Fair enough,” Arthur says. “And in the meantime, no one, I mean no one, breathes a word about this baby.” He scans the table, fixing his eyes on each person for a moment before moving on to the next. “I need some time to figure this out.”
Celia smiles until the meat grinder begins to squeal again.
Evie opens Aunt Eve’s closet slowly so that it doesn’t make any noise, lays her tote bag on the floor and walks across the room to make sure the bedroom door is latched. On the table near the closet, the Virgin Mary stands, holding out her new hands, the ones Daddy glued on after Evie told him that Aunt Eve would surely be upset if they didn’t fix her statue. Daddy asked Grandma Reesa first. She looked sad about it, but nodded and handed Daddy a tube of glue from the kitchen junk drawer. Evie runs a finger over a tiny spot of glue that Daddy didn’t wipe clean. It has dried into a hard, clear bubble. Pressing on the door twice, Evie tiptoes back to the closet, lowers to her knees and unhooks the buckles on her tote bag one at a time.
Evie tries to love all of Aunt Eve’s dresses the same, thinks that if she has a favorite among them, it will hurt Aunt Eve’s feelings but she can’t help herself. She loves the blue one best. She loves the three soft ruffles and the silky sash. She loves the silver flowers embroidered on the lapel that feel cool when she runs a finger over them. Most of all, she loves it best because, as she slips the dress off its hanger and presses it to her face, she can smell Aunt Eve. After taking one deep breath to make sure the flowery sweet smell is still there, she holds the dress by the shoulders, folds one side toward the center and then the other. Next, she drapes the dress over her left forearm and again over her right, lays it in the bag and refastens the two buckles.
Chapter 14
Daniel exhales hot breath into his cupped hands. Even through the old green sleeping bag that Ian brought up from his basement, the wooden floor is cold. The Bucher house doesn’t have a heater, only a parlor stove in the main room off the kitchen where Ian’s two older brothers are sleeping. In Daniel’s house, they have a radiator, the same radiator that cooked up Mrs. Murray. Mama says that never happened, but every time it clicks on, he thinks he can smell roasted skin.
Watching the Bucher brothers through the opened bedroom door, Daniel wonders if they are the lookouts for Jack Mayer. He pulls his knees to his chest and scoots farther down into the sleeping bag that smells like someone peed in it. Ian had said the cats did it, but Ian’s brothers laughed like Ian was the one who did the peeing. Next to Daniel, Ian is sleeping, and by the dual snoring coming from the bed in the corner, so are the two brothers who share Ian’s room. Daniel breathes through his mouth so he can’t smell the sleeping bag and covers his ears so he won’t hear Jack Mayer climb through the kitchen window to sneak off with Mrs. Bucher’s leftover brisket and mashed potatoes.
By morning, the house is warmer. The Buchers may not have radiators in every room, but they have enough people in their family to warm up the place quickly. Daniel pulls on a gray sweatshirt and the wool socks Mama packed for him and follows Ian into the kitchen. It smells like his kitchen, except for the pee smell that is stuck to him. Coffee bubbles up, bacon pops on the stove and dish soap foams in a sink of hot water. Daniel presses down on his hair and straightens his sleeves.
“Good morning, sir,” he says when Mr. Bucher nods in his direction.
Ian nudges Daniel and muffles a laugh. “Something quick for us, Ma,” he says, walking on one flat foot and one tiptoe. Since he got his new boots, he walks that way whenever he doesn’t have them on, probably so he can forget about being crooked.
“Yeah, Ma,” one of the older brothers says. He scoops a handful of potato peels out of the sink and tosses them in an old coffee can. “Daniel’s going to show us all what a great shot he is. Okay we use your.22, Pa?”
Mr. Bucher nods over his coffee cup.
One of the brothers, the biggest, and the only one wearing a hat, turns in his seat. Mrs. Bucher doesn’t seem like the type of mother who would allow hats at the table. Except when the man turns, it isn’t a Bucher brother.
“Morning there, Dan.”
Uncle Ray raises his cup and tips his hat.
Celia pretends to sleep as Arthur slips out of bed. She knows they’ll be late to church if they don’t get a move on, because the sun is high enough in the sky to fill their bedroom with light. Once Arthur has left the room, Celia pulls the blankets to her chin and tucks them under her shoulders. The front door opens, closes, and opens again and Arthur stomps his heavy boots. He only uses the front door when he is gathering wood for the fireplace from along the side of the house. When the night temperatures dip so low, the radiator can’t keep up, but Arthur will have a fine fire going in no time. Newspapers crackle as he twists them into kindling and, after a few minutes, the sweet, rich smell of a newly started fire drifts into the bedroom. The house will warm quickly, but Celia wonders if even then she’ll want to get up.
She pushed Arthur away last night, gently, but firmly, and this morning, she pretended sleep. She should tell him but won’t because it’ll only make things worse. She can’t tell him how Ray looked at her out there on the porch the other night, how she can see what Ray is thinking and that it makes her ashamed. Or maybe Arthur would think her silly, or worse yet, selfish for thinking of herself instead of Ruth. Maybe she is silly and even selfish, too. Whatever this feeling is, shame or guilt, it’ll pass. No, she can’t tell Arthur, because if she really made him understand, if she made him appreciate that in the privacy of a single glance, a man can tell a woman that he is coming for her, he’d kill Ray. Just like that. He’d kill him.
“Morning, sir,” Daniel says.
Uncle Ray looks at Mr. Bucher with his good brown eye, while the bad eye seems stuck on Daniel. He laughs and says, “Would you look at the manners on my nephew?” Then he stands and gives Daniel a solid pat on the back. “Thank you for the hot wake-me-up, Ida. Real kind of you.” Nodding to Mr. Bucher, he says, “Monday morning, then?”
Mr. Bucher stands and shakes the hand Uncle Ray has held out to him.
“Are you off so soon, Ray?” Mrs. Bucher says, poking her bacon with one hand and balancing her new baby on her hip with the other. “Bacon’s almost done.”