Not knowing why, except that the cold air and the gray sky make her think that she might never find home again, Evie starts to cry. She tries to stop by holding her breath and knocking with her knuckles so the sting will make her forget about how far away her house is, but the harder she knocks, the harder she cries. Mrs. Robison isn’t home and she can’t fix Aunt Eve’s dress. Evie will have to go home with the torn collar and Mama will scold her for wearing Aunt Eve’s dress and for ruining it. Laying one hand flat on Mrs. Robison’s door, Evie drops her head, pulls her collar up and over her mouth and nose and walks away from the house.
At the end of the Robisons’ sidewalk, with her face buried in her coat, Evie turns toward St. Anthony’s. She knows to take Bent Road straight out of town. It will change from concrete to gravel, twist and bend, exactly like the name says, and after a good long way, it will break in two. One branch will lead to Grandma Reesa’s house and the other will switch its name to Back Route 1 and lead toward home.
Crossing the street to the church, Evie sees that Uncle Ray isn’t visiting Father Flannery. He is standing inside the white wooden fence that wraps around the graveyard, staring down on one of the graves. The new graves, like the one dug for Mrs. Minken who died because she was 102, are way in the back of the cemetery, so Uncle Ray must be visiting an older grave, one for someone who died a long time ago. Three large pine trees stand over the grave Uncle Ray is looking at as if they are guarding it. He stands with those trees, his arms crossed, his feet spread wide like he’s standing guard, too. In one hand, he holds his hat and his dark hair blows off his forehead. Evie calls out, good and loud so Uncle Ray will hear her over the wind.
“Hello,” she says, and then is sorry for it. People are supposed to whisper in cemeteries.
Uncle Ray turns toward Evie. He watches her for a good long time, then pulls on his hat and looks back down on the grave.
The wind is colder once Evie steps onto the sidewalk and walks toward home. She pulls her sleeves over her hands, dips her head and tries to take long steps that will get her home quicker. Beyond the shelter of the church, the wind kicks up and dies down again when she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. A light switches on. Mr. Brewster, carrying a plate, walks past the window. Mama says he’s a widower because his wife died and that he doesn’t get out much. Even Mr. Brewster, who is all by himself, is sitting down to supper. That’s what Mama and the others are doing by now. Mama likes an early supper because going to bed on a full stomach never does anyone any good. Evie closes her eyes as she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. He must be lonely in there all by himself and that makes Evie feel like she may never see home again.
At the last stop sign before the road changes to dirt, a car pulls up next to Evie. It rattles to a stop and exhaust swirls up, clouding the gray air around her. She unwraps her hands, lowers her collar and looks into the side of a big, red truck.
Celia clears her throat, and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she pulls a fresh shirt from the top drawer and a clean pair of pants from the closet. Out in the kitchen, Ruth is busying herself by setting the table and skinning the chicken for dinner. She’s seen things like this before, probably much worse. If Arthur hadn’t been able to come home in the middle of the day when Celia called to tell him that Olivia was out again and was apparently stuck between the house and garage, even with one bad arm, Ruth probably would have coaxed the cow out herself. Right this moment, she is probably planning how to best slaughter Olivia and where they will freeze so much meat. No, that’s not true. Ruth wouldn’t think those things. Reesa would, but not Ruth. Ruth will be thinking how to help the children understand that this is part of life on the farm. She would never tell them that Olivia will soon be wrapped in white butcher paper and stacked in the freezer.
Folding the blue and gray plaid flannel shirt for no reason other than to stall, Celia wonders if Arthur knew things would be this way when they moved from Detroit. Did he know that sometimes the eggs wouldn’t be eggs when Celia cracked them into her skillet but that sometimes they would be the beginnings of a tiny, bloody chick? Did he know Daniel wouldn’t have many friends and that Evie still wouldn’t grow? Did he know Ray was beating Ruth all those years, beating the life out of her, and did he still stay away? Not wanting the answer to the last thought, Celia clears her throat again and walks from the bedroom with the clothes stacked neatly in both hands.
Standing at the kitchen table, one hand holding the back of a chair, Ruth doesn’t look the way Celia thought she would. Her face is pale, her neck flushed. For a moment, Celia is relieved because Ruth is as upset as she by what has happened to Olivia. For a moment, Celia doesn’t feel alone. Thank goodness for Ruth. Celia holds the clothes out to Daniel, who stands in the hallway leading to the back porch, but he doesn’t reach for them.
“For your dad,” Celia says, taking another step forward.
Daniel’s arms hang limp and he steps aside when Arthur walks up from behind. Celia takes two quick steps backward and pulls the clothes to her chest, hugging them.
“Arthur, take this outside,” she says, shoving his clothes at him. “You’re an awful mess.”
Reddish brown smudges that end with feathered edges travel from Arthur’s right hip up to his left shoulder, as if Olivia threw her head against him, and dried blood is caked on his hands and forearms.
“Your shoes,” Celia says. “Take those off. Outside.”
Muddy tracks have followed Arthur into the house, bloody mud. Celia looks at Daniel’s feet instead. He keeps telling her he needs new boots, that his toes are going to end up crooked if he doesn’t get some bigger shoes.
“Please, take those off outside.”
“Is Evie here with you?” Arthur says.
At this, Celia lifts her eyes.
“She’s not outside,” Jonathon says, walking up behind Arthur. Elaine stands next to him. She nods. “We checked the barn, the road. Elaine looked downstairs.”
“She came on the bus,” Celia says, looking Daniel in the eye. “With you. She came home on the bus. Like always.”
“The nurse said she was going to call,” Daniel says. “Because Evie wore the dress. I thought you came for her.”
Ruth steps forward and takes the stack of clothes from Celia.
“The dress?” Celia says. “What dress? No one called.”
“The school nurse.” Daniel clears his throat the same way Celia does when she’s trying not to cry. “She was going to call. She said maybe Evie should go home for the day.”
Daniel looks up at Arthur. There’s not so much difference anymore. They’re almost the same height.
“Evie wore one of those dresses to school. One of Aunt Eve’s dresses. From Grandma’s house. I thought you picked her up.” Daniel takes a deep breath. His chest lifts and lowers. “She didn’t come home on the bus, Mama.”
“Well, then she’s still at school,” Celia says, nodding. “Right. She’s still at school.”
“We’ll go, Mama,” Elaine says, pulling Jonathon toward the back door. “We’ll check the school.”
“I’ll give them a call,” Ruth says, setting the clothes on the table and taking care that they don’t spill over and come unfolded. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably got caught up after class. Nothing to worry about.”