In Elaine’s room, Ruth pulls her suitcase from under the bed. The last time she touched it, she had just moved in with Arthur and Celia. She had been remembering the devil’s claw growing outside Mother’s house, the smell of it, the feel of the sharp pods. She had known she was pregnant, known it for sure, but didn’t know how to be happy about it. Now, even though Ruth has lived in Arthur’s house for nearly five months, even though she thought she had found a way to be happy, the moment she lays back the top of the blue suitcase, she smells home. She smells Ray. There was always something musty about him and that house. No matter that she scrubbed with bleach and washed with lye soap. No matter that she always hung out the clothes and towels to dry so they wouldn’t mold. The house still smelled old and damp. Now she breathes in the smell, soaks it up, so she’ll be ready.
Daniel pushes his shovel across the flat roof, clearing the last patch of snow. Standing straight, he plants his shovel like a pitchfork in a drift that has collected where the angled roof meets the flat. Up the road, Jonathon’s truck creeps into sight. As he starts down the hill, his back end fishtails, leaving crooked tracks in the fresh snow, but then it falls back into a straight line. Watching the truck, Daniel arches his back and groans the way Dad would have. He thinks about Ian and all of his aches and pains. Mrs. Bucher says they’re worse in this cold weather. Ian won’t be hunting pheasant today. He won’t be a pusher or a blocker, and he damn sure won’t be hunting Jack Mayer.
As Jonathon’s truck slows at the bottom of the hill and turns into the drive, Daniel looks back toward Uncle Ray’s house. White smoke drifts up through the falling snow. Yep, Uncle Ray made it home, made it home in good enough shape to keep a fire going all morning long. Daniel stretches again, pulling his wool cap down over his ears, and leans on the shovel. The snow is falling straight down, harder since Daniel climbed onto the roof. A new layer of white has filled in where he already shoveled.
Walking to the edge of the roof, Daniel stands over the header board where he is sure not to fall through and squats to wait for Jonathon’s truck to pull up. The chains on his tires make a crunching noise as he drives around the house. The truck stops and both doors fly open. Elaine steps out of the passenger’s side, and Jonathon, the driver’s side. Both hold out a hand, but Grandma Reesa takes Elaine’s. Jonathon doesn’t move, instead standing near the truck until Grandma Reesa has started up the stairs, leaning on Elaine with one hand and the handrail with the other. When she is at the last step, Jonathon slams his door, walks around the truck and, when he passes under the spot where Daniel squats, he calls up to him.
“I’ll be needing a hand later today if you got one.”
“Sure,” Daniel calls down. He coughs and spits in a pile of snow on the ground below. “What do you need?”
“Ran into Norbert Brewster this morning,” Jonathon says, removing his hat and shaking off the snow. “Said I’d better get what I want out of their old place quick. Said the roof is caving in on a good day. Won’t hold up to this snow. Thought about driving out there. It’s a decent road on toward Clark City. Things’ll ice over tonight and we won’t be going anywhere for a day or two.” Jonathon glances back at his truck. “Says he’s got some good hardware out there. And some cabinets might be worth saving. Could use an extra set of hands ripping it all out. Won’t be any good if the weather gets to it.”
“Sure, I’ll go.” Daniel drops the shovel into a mound of snow below. No sense staying at home. Once he goes back inside, even before he can hang up his gloves and hat to dry, Mama will be asking him how he’s feeling. She’ll press her hand to his forehead like his not having any friends is a sign of the flu and then she’ll cock her head and say once again how lucky they are that Uncle Ray didn’t get his hands on Evie. She’ll whisper that part so Evie doesn’t hear.
“Hustle on in and put on dry clothes,” Jonathon says, offering Daniel a hand as he steps off the ladder. “We’ll head out when you’re done.”
Chapter 26
Route 60, leading Daniel and Jonathon fifteen miles southwest, was plowed sometime during the night, but as the snow continues to fall, a fresh layer, blowing like thick fog, covers the narrow road. Still, the chains on Jonathon’s tires rattle over the hard, frozen ground. Outside, snowflakes fall in a heavy white curtain, larger and fluffier then they were at home. Squinting into the white haze, Daniel tries to follow one flake all the way to the ground.
“Here we go,” Jonathon says, slowly rolling the steering wheel, his leather gloves stiff as he passes one hand over the other.
He pulls off the main road where a rusted mailbox hangs from a wooden post. The fresh, unplowed snow quiets the chains.
“Haven’t seen this old place in years.”
Daniel leans forward, both hands resting on the dashboard. The small two-story farmhouse has a flat roof and a wrap-around porch. Other than a single barren tree standing in front and to the side of the house, the landscape is empty. Flat, snow-covered fields stretch as far as the horizon in every direction. The snow makes everything crisp and new, tidy. It’s as if Norbert Brewster and his wife never left the house, or perhaps it’s as if they never lived there at all.
“Doesn’t anyone live here?” Daniel asks.
“Not since Norbert lost his wife and moved to town. Couple years back, at least.” Jonathon throws the car into park and leans over the steering wheel. “Let’s have a quick look around. Doesn’t seem to be much worth saving,” he says and looks up at the thick white layer of snow on the flat roof. Grabbing his toolbox from the center seat, he climbs out of the truck.
The icy stairs creak when they walk up them to the porch. Standing at the front door, Daniel shoves his hands in his coat pockets while Jonathon fumbles with the key that Norbert Brewster gave him. The emptiness of the snow-covered fields surrounding the house makes Daniel think of Clark City. Jack Mayer would have come across this house first when he escaped, even before the Scott house, but if he did stop here, looking for food or anything else, he wouldn’t have found it.
“Got it,” Jonathon says. He steps inside, stomping his boots on the threshold even though no one lives here anymore, and Daniel follows closely behind, stomping his boots, too. Their heavy footsteps echo in the empty house and something scurries.
Jonathon winks at Daniel. “Rats, I suppose.” He takes a few steps into the entryway, and stops. “Well, that’s a shame,” he says.
Daniel looks off to the right where Jonathon is looking. A snowdrift, littered with leaves and dirt, has spilled through a broken picture window into what was once the dining room.
“Might have pulled up those oak floors,” Jonathon says, setting his toolbox on the third step of the stairway leading to the second floor. He opens it and hands Daniel a screwdriver. “Take a look around up there,” he says, nodding up the stairs. “If you find a decent door, take it down. Give a shout if you need a hand. I’m going to see about the kitchen cabinets.”
Daniel steps into the wide entry that leads into the dining room. A gust of wind catches him in the face. He shivers. Most of the glass in the picture window is gone. Only a few pieces hang from the top of the frame. They are called shards. Daniel knows because that’s what Dad called them after Uncle Ray broke their window. Dad knocked those shards loose with a hammer and boarded up the window with scraps of plywood from the basement.