Ruth tries to lift her eyes to Mary but she can’t. Instead, she lays Mary’s hands in her lap and covers them with her own.
“I thought I was marrying a miracle worker. So carried away with him. Big and broad as a barn. And so handsome. Wasn’t he handsome?” Mary lifts Ruth’s chin with one finger. “He did it, Ruthie. He hurt your Eve. When she was so young. He hurt your Eve, did things to her no man should be doing to a child. And then your family came home again. After all these years, they haunted him like a ghost. Hurt him especially to see the little one.” She cups Ruth’s face with one hand. “I didn’t know how to stop him.”
Wondering if Arthur hears the rustling outside the kitchen window, Celia nudges him, but he is listening to Ruth and Mary Robison and he brushes her away. She has been trying to follow the conversation, but isn’t able to because she can’t shake the feeling that something is watching her. Outside the window over the sink, the maple tree’s bare branches tap on the side of the house and the porch light throws long, thin shadows that skip into the corners of her eyes, startling her. She’s a little jumpy, that’s all. So much has happened. Celia takes a deep breath and exhales as she moves her chair closer to Arthur’s.
“What is it you’re saying, Mary?” Arthur asks, scooting to the edge of his seat.
Ignoring for a moment that it seems someone is lurking outside the kitchen window, Celia realizes that she missed something very important. She reaches for Arthur’s arm, but he pulls away.
“Arthur,” she whispers. “Let’s not lose our tempers.”
Again, Arthur ignores Celia. “Tell me, Mary,” he says.
Keeping one hand on Arthur’s forearm, Celia shifts in her seat to face Ruth. “I don’t understand, Ruth,” she says. “What’s going on?”
Ruth doesn’t answer. Instead, with her hands covering Mary’s, she stares over Celia’s shoulder. Celia slowly turns. There, in the dark window with the maple’s bare branches bouncing in the north wind, a large shadow slips by. Celia jumps up, the back of her chair bouncing off the kitchen cabinets and catching her left ankle. She stumbles and cries out, but before she can steady herself, Arthur grabs her arm and yanks her backward.
“Go,” he says, stepping in front of her and waving them all toward the front bedroom. “Get all the girls. Shut the door. Lock it.”
Celia limps around the table, keeping her eyes on the window even though the shadow is gone now and hurries Ruth and Mary toward the farthest bedroom-Ruth’s room now that she stays with Elaine.
“What is it, Mama?” Evie calls out from her room.
“Here, Evie. Come here.” Celia grabs Evie’s arm like Arthur grabbed hers, hustles Ruth and Mary into the room, and pulling Evie in after them, she slams the door behind her.
“Mama,” Evie says, jumping into the middle of Ruth’s bed and tucking her knees up under her. “What is it?”
Celia presses her ear to the closed door as she waves at Ruth to back away. “Sit down,” she says. “It’s nothing. Nothing.”
“Celia, did you see?” Ruth says, helping Mary to sit on the bed.
Celia glances around the room, which is brightly lit with two lamps and the overhead light. At the end of Ruth’s bed sit two suitcases. “The lights,” she says, though she doesn’t know why. “Put out the lights.”
“Why?” Evie says. “What is it?”
“Please, shut them off.”
Ruth turns off the two lamps near the bed as Celia flips the switch on the wall. The room falls dark. The house is quiet. Celia stands at the door, listening but hearing nothing.
“I know what it is, Mama,” Evie says, her voice floating up out of the darkness.
Three silhouettes sit on the bed, smallest to tallest. The smallest sits up and lifts her head.
“It’s Uncle Ray.”
Chapter 34
Daniel stops in the shadow of the barn, his shotgun propped over one shoulder. His crooked toes are numb and his fingers have gone stiff. The cold, dry air burns his mouth and throat each time he inhales. The day was only warm enough to melt the very top layer of snow. Now, with nightfall, the slippery coating has frozen to an icy shell. With every movement, every step, the snow crackles underfoot. Trying to stand still, he breathes into a cupped fist to warm the air before taking it in again. He leans forward, out of the shadow. Straight ahead, between the house and the barn, the porch light glows in a perfect circle, and in its center, stands Uncle Ray.
Evie says Uncle Ray has shrunk since they moved to Kansas, that little by little, he has started to dry up. She showed Daniel the picture of Aunt Eve and Uncle Ray when they were young, not so long before Aunt Eve died. Back then, Uncle Ray was tall and straight and strong. Like Dad. Looking at Uncle Ray now, his legs spread wide, a rifle braced against his chest and pointed straight at Dad, who is walking out of the house, his hands calming Uncle Ray the same way he calmed Olivia when she slit open her neck, Daniel thinks Uncle Ray looks plenty big.
Pressing back against the barn, Daniel feels suddenly hot. His jacket is heavy, so heavy that it’s suffocating him. He rips off his stocking cap, takes a deep breath in through his nose and blows it out slowly through his mouth. He lets the cold burn his insides so it will wake him up, help him to think. Calm now. Calm. Breathe. In and out. Slowly. In and out. Watching the ground at his feet so that he steps only where he’s already broken through the snow, he leans out again.
“I’ve had about enough,” Uncle Ray says, his cheek lying on the stock of the gun. His head is hanging. Bad form, Ian would have said. “I’ve God damned had enough.”
Uncle Ray shifts his weight, putting his left foot slightly forward and then his right as if he can’t remember how to get off a good shot.
“Sure, Ray,” Dad says, still trying to soothe Uncle Ray, and when Uncle Ray stumbles because he’s still shifting his feet, Dad takes one quick glance at the house. “We’ve all had enough. Damn right about that.”
“Ruth is coming home today. Ruth and that child of mine. And that’ll be the end of it.”
The porch light glows on the two men. Flakes of snow blowing off the roof sparkle in the air around them.
“Let’s talk a bit,” Dad says and begins to sidestep across the drive toward the garage a few yards away.
“No more damned talking.” Uncle Ray stumbles again.
Dad stops, stands still.
“You call Ruth.” Uncle Ray rams the gun toward Dad. “Call her now.”
Continuing to sidestep away from the house toward the garage, Dad says, “She’s not here. Left with Jonathon. Taking rolls on over to the Buchers.”
Another step, farther away from the house. Closer to the garage.
“You heard about Ian, yes?” Dad says.
The closer Dad gets to the garage, the easier it is for Daniel to see him, but he can’t see Uncle Ray unless he steps out of the shadow and around the side of the barn.
“You know how Ruth is. Always trying to help out. She’ll be back later. Soon enough, I’d guess.”
Holding his breath and leaning as far as he can without stumbling outside of the shadow, Daniel listens for Uncle Ray’s voice. He leans too far, and when startled by a loud bang, he falls forward through the icy crust on a patch of fresh snow. There is another bang. Metal against metal. Olivia’s gate. He ran through it on the way to the prairie dog mound, and like he did when Olivia was alive, he left it open. Now it’s banging in the wind that has stirred up since the sun set. Daniel jumps up, scrambles to his feet and falls back against the barn.
“What the hell?” Uncle Ray shouts.
He must be looking straight at the barn now, probably with his gun pointed at the dent Daniel made in the snow, except Daniel is standing in the shadows, not breathing, not moving, and Uncle Ray doesn’t see him.
“Just that old gate,” Dad says.