Jonathon walks a few yards across the gravel drive, his footsteps the only sound, bends down and slips his hands under Uncle Ray’s shoulders. Without saying anything to Elaine or Mama or Aunt Ruth, who are all standing at the top of the stairs, Jonathon drags Uncle Ray’s limp body to his truck, his boots leaving two thin trails in the dusting of snow that has started to cover the gravel drive. Daniel runs to the passenger side of the truck and opens the door. He blinks away the snowflakes that catch in his eyelashes and watches Jonathon try to lift Uncle Ray, but when he can’t quite get him into the truck, Jonathon looks to Dad for help. Dad, having not moved, stares at Jonathon for a moment before walking inside. First, the screened door slams shut, next the door off the kitchen. Mama and Elaine follow him but Aunt Ruth doesn’t move. She stands, watching Jonathon try to lift Uncle Ray into the truck.
“Dan,” Jonathon says. He breathes heavily and jostles Uncle Ray to get a better hold on him. “Can you give me a hand?”
Daniel glances back at Aunt Ruth, the only one left standing on the porch. She gives a nod, so Daniel steps up to Jonathon’s truck and grabs one of Uncle Ray’s arms.
“Should have left that girl to freeze,” Uncle Ray mumbles. Both Daniel and Jonathon turn away from his breath. “God damn dogs. Even dug up my yard.”
Clearing his throat and trying to suck in fresh air, Daniel slips under Uncle Ray’s left arm and pulls it around his own shoulders so he can use his legs to lift. Together, he and Jonathon toss Uncle Ray into the truck.
“Tell your folks I’m taking him to the hospital,” Jonathon says. Once Uncle Ray is inside the truck, Jonathon walks around to the driver’s side. “From the looks and smell of it, he’s mostly drunk. Nothing a few stitches won’t take care of.”
Daniel nods and steps back as Jonathon slides into the truck. Not certain why he does it, Daniel lifts a hand to wave good-bye. Starting the engine, Jonathon gives Uncle Ray a shove, causing his head to bounce off the passenger side door. He smiles and waves back.
Ruth counts out three tablespoons of coffee, plugs in the pot and watches, waiting for hot water to bubble up in the small glass lid. She startles, her shoulders and neck tensing, when Arthur begins to pound again. Each blow of the hammer vibrates through the floorboards. Soon, he’ll have the broken window covered over with plywood and they can all go back to bed. Daniel is with him, fetching nails and scraps of wood, just like he did when the two worked together to repair the broken window in the garage. Elaine has gone to her room and Celia is taking a shower. Ruth didn’t ask why she would shower so late at night when she’s sure to catch a chill and maybe a nasty cold. She knew enough, had seen enough, to know the answer.
Soon, steam begins to leak from the coffeepot and it gives its first gurgle. Outside the dark kitchen window is the beginning of a good snowstorm. Making herself smile first, Ruth turns to face Evie, who sits at the kitchen table, swinging her legs because her feet don’t reach the floor yet. With a creased brow, Evie watches Ruth. In the back of the house, Arthur begins to pound again.
“Your daddy and Daniel must be nearly finished,” Ruth says, taking a loaf of sourdough bread from the top of the refrigerator and readjusting her sling. Her arm isn’t so sore anymore. Tomorrow she’ll take it off. “Do you feel it? The draft-it’s almost gone. The house will warm up again soon. They’ll be hungry, don’t you think?”
Evie nods.
“And then it’s off to bed with you.”
Evie, still swinging her legs, leans forward and rests her chin in her hands. “Why does Uncle Ray hit you?”
Ruth stops in the middle of cutting a slice of sourdough and with her eyes lowered, she says, “I don’t know, Evie. Except that life is harder on some people.”
“Is it harder on Uncle Ray?”
“Yes,” Ruth says, finishing one slice and starting another. “I’d say it has been.”
“Because he wanted to marry Aunt Eve but she died and he had to marry you instead.”
Ruth nods. “Yes. Yes, that’s hard on a person.”
“But he wouldn’t hit you now. Since you have a baby in there.” She points at Ruth’s stomach. “He wouldn’t hurt the baby.”
Ruth lays down her knife and brushes a handful of crumbs off the counter into her palm, which she dumps into the sink. “No, Evie. He wouldn’t hurt the baby.” Ruth says it even though she’s not sure it’s the truth.
Evie stops swinging her legs and lifts her chin. She doesn’t look like a little girl when she raises her eyes to Ruth. Her skin is pale and gray, her eyes old and tired and the fringe of white bangs that usually hangs softly across her forehead has been pushed back, sharpening her jawline and cheekbones.
Tilting her head, Evie says, “Then maybe it’s time you go back home with him.”
Ruth smiles with closed lips. Her chin quivers. “Yes,” she says. “I think it’s time.”
Chapter 25
When day breaks on Saturday morning, the snow continues, but because the wind that blew all through the night has stopped, it falls straight down, in thick, heavy clumps. Outside the kitchen window, where the maple tree sparkles with an icy skin, two sets of tire tracks cut through four inches of snow that blanket the drive-one set going, partially filled in now with fresh snow, and one set coming, deep ruts that still show the indentation of the chains on Jonathon’s truck. Knowing the back door will swing open at any moment, followed by a blast of cold air, Celia slides her eggs off the hot burner and makes herself touch Ruth’s sleeve. Something to comfort her. The only thing Celia can manage. Ruth sets aside the potato she is grating for hash browns and wipes her hands on her apron.
Arthur walks into the kitchen first. Jonathon follows, shaking out his blue stocking cap and brushing the snow from his coat. Arthur takes off his hat and sets it on top of the refrigerator. His dark hair is wet and matted on the ends, his nose and cheeks are red and his shoulders are dusted with snow.
“Smoke coming from his chimney.” Jonathon slaps his hat against his thigh. “Someone must have driven him home from the hospital.”
“I spoke to Floyd,” Arthur says to Ruth. “He says they’re done over at your place. Done all they could. Didn’t find anything.”
“Been so long,” Jonathon says. “Since it happened, I mean. They didn’t really expect to.”
Ruth nods, and turning her back on them, she continues shredding her potato into a hot skillet, the paper-thin slivers sizzling and popping in melted butter.
After everyone has finished breakfast, Arthur asks Jonathon and Elaine to drive over to Reesa’s and bring her back to the house before the storm strands her alone and he tells Daniel to get busy shoveling the snow off the roof.
“The flat roof over the porch,” Arthur says. “That’ll be the trouble spot. The rest should be fine. Just fine.”
Daniel nods. “Yes, sir,” he says, holding his fork in his left hand and his knife in his right. Like Arthur, like a Midwesterner. All night, Daniel stayed awake with Jonathon and Arthur, boarding up the broken window, listening for Ray, and from the three cups that Celia found on the kitchen table this morning, he even drank coffee with them.
Once Jonathon and Elaine have left for Reesa’s, Arthur heads outside to bring more firewood up to the house and Ruth excuses herself to do some sewing, all of them leaving Celia alone in the kitchen. Even Evie shuffles back to her room, her head and shoulders slumped as if she’s thinking about Olivia. Outside, there is a thud as Daniel drops the ladder against the house. His footsteps cross overhead. Warming her coffee with a refill, Celia pulls out a chair, sits and cradles her mug. After a few deep breaths, she stares across the room at Elaine’s closed bedroom door, the one where Ruth and the baby were supposed to stay once the little one came along, except now Celia doesn’t want them here anymore. After the snow stops and the storm has passed, Ruth can go home with Reesa. She can live there, anywhere, as long as it’s away from Celia’s family. She doesn’t want Ruth and her baby in her home for one more day.