“No, Evie,” Celia says, not turning around because she’s afraid of losing her grip on the steering wheel. “Julianne will be home by dinner. The sheriff said so. No one is going missing. No one.”
Ruth smiles at Celia’s children sitting shoulder to shoulder across the backseat and rests her smile the longest on Evie so she’ll believe what her mama told her-that bad things don’t happen to nice girls. Except Ruth knows that’s not true. Sheriff Bigler must know it, too. He was full of hope up on those steps, shielding his eyes and looking at the Robisons’ house three doors down from the church as if Julianne might walk right up the sidewalk at any moment. But early this morning when he knocked on Ruth’s back door, he wasn’t so hopeful. Standing on her porch, his hat in hand, he must have known that if a hungry stomach was all it took to bring Julianne Robison home, she would have already eaten Mary Robison’s Saturday night roast and potatoes and been tucked in good and tight. Instead, at 7:00 on Sunday morning when the sheriff came knocking, Julianne Robison had been missing for well over twelve hours and a hungry stomach hadn’t done a thing to help her.
“It’s Floyd,” he had said when Ruth pulled open the curtain on the back door. “Floyd Bigler. Sorry for the early hour.”
Ruth tugged at her terrycloth belt and smoothed back her hair. “Ray’s sleeping,” she said, steaming the windowpane as she talked through the glass. Dark clouds in the east dampened the rising sun so Ruth flipped on the porch light. Floyd stepped back, the glare making him squint and bow his head.
“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s early. A quick word is all. Just a few questions.”
Over the backdrop of a percolating coffeepot, with Floyd sitting at her kitchen table, Ruth learned that Julianne Robison hadn’t come home to supper the day before. Mary Robison had walked the neighborhood searching for her, calling out the way mothers do when the kids wander too far. She was mad as a grizzly when she first called Floyd, but after he drove the town for two hours and darkness settled in, she wasn’t so mad. Just plain scared. A group of fellows from town were already looking for her, had been all night, and Floyd had been to see most folks living in the outlying areas, asking them to search their barns, abandoned wells, cellars, any place a young girl might get herself stuck. He’d been checking in with all the folks. Good old-fashioned questions. Maybe someone had seen the girl out walking one of the back roads or catching a ride. Ruth told him that she and Ray had spent Saturday helping her brother and his family settle in. Arthur was gone a good many years but he’s back now. Thank goodness. They all met at Mother’s, ate a heavy lunch and unloaded the truck at the new house. Ruth baked a strawberry pie-not so nice with brown sugar on top-and they unpacked boxes until late afternoon. Didn’t see a thing out of the ordinary. Not a thing.
“I’m real sorry to hear this,” Ruth said, hoping that Floyd would forget about his cup of coffee. “Real sorry indeed.”
When Floyd took another sip, Ruth pressed both hands into the pockets of her robe. In her right one were the two stones she had pulled from Ray’s pants pocket that morning. Both stones were smooth and together fit in the palm of her hand. Waiting for what Floyd would say next, Ruth rolled the stones between her fingers and rubbed her thumb over their smooth edges. Outside, the breeze that kicked up with the early-morning clouds had died out and the air was still. Maybe it wouldn’t rain after all.
“I’ll keep a good eye out. Any more questions? Is that all?”
“I suspect it is. For now, I’d say yes. Please ask Ray to have a look around the place. You, too, if you have a mind to.”
Watching behind Floyd, waiting for the bedroom door to open, Ruth wiped her top lip with a dish towel. She has known Julianne Robison since she was a bundle wrapped in a pink fleece blanket. “There’s still time for you,” Mary had said as she handed Julianne to Ruth on the first Sunday the Robisons brought their new baby to church. Mary Robison was Ruth’s age, even a few years older, and Orville Robison was a good bit older than Ray. Still, the Robisons had been blessed with a little girl. Now, the sweet baby that had smelled of talc and vanilla was gone.
“Will you come again?” Ruth said. “Ask any more questions?”
Floyd twisted his lips up the same way he did when they were kids figuring multiplication facts in Mrs. Franklin’s class. “Might be more. Can’t tell. I’ll come along if there are.”
Ruth leaned against the kitchen counter, shifting a little to the right so she could see the knob on the bedroom door. “I’m real sorry,” she said. “Mary must be beside herself from worry. You tell her I’ll bring her a casserole. A real nice one.”
Taking his hat from the table and tucking it under his arm, Floyd stood and pushed in his chair. “Sorry to bother you so early, Ruth. I’ll see myself out.”
Ruth tightened her robe. “No bother.”
“One more quick question.” Floyd slapped his beige hat against his left thigh a few times. “You say you were busy at your brother’s all afternoon.”
Ruth nodded, swallowed and continued to watch the bedroom door.
“And you folks came home around five o’clock?”
Again, Ruth nodded.
“Didn’t stay for supper?”
“Arthur’s family had such a long day and Mother made a late lunch. Didn’t bother with eating again. Left them alone to a quiet evening.”
“So, you and Ray were home here all night?”
Behind Floyd, the bedroom door opened.
Floyd turned. “Morning, Ray,” he said. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Ray ran one hand through his dark hair, pushing it off his face. “First thing home, ate some of Ruth’s meat loaf,” he said. Both eyes, even the gray overcast one, settled directly on Floyd. “Leftover pie for dessert.”
“She does make a fine pie,” Floyd said and at the same time studied Ruth as if waiting for her to confirm Ray’s story.
Ruth cleared her throat and nodded again. “Pie wasn’t so nice. Strawberries were tart.”
Lowering her eyes to avoid Floyd’s stare, Ruth tried to remember the last time she had seen little Julianne. Church, probably. Most likely, last Sunday. Julianne, with silky blond hair that hung to her waist, always wore a pink dress to services. She’d wear it until she outgrew it or until the weather turned too cold.
“Guess you heard, then,” Floyd said because it seemed that Ray had listened to their conversation. “You know the girl? Know what she looks like?”
“Sure do,” Ray said, nodding once.
“Good enough.” Floyd pulled on his hat. “If you don’t mind, give things a good going over. I suspect someone’ll show up with her at church this morning. Probably found her out wandering, gave her a bed to sleep in and a warm breakfast. But in case that doesn’t happen, Father’s going to cut the service short and I’ll be gathering up some more fellows. Continue the search. Suppose you can give a hand if it comes to that?”
“Will do,” Ray had said. “Won’t leave a stone unturned.”
Ruth smiles one last time at Evie, who is chewing on her lower lip as if she is still worried about disappearing like Julianne, and then lifting her face into the hot, dry wind that blows through her open car window, Ruth tightens the knot on her scarf so it won’t slip from under her chin. It’s been a long time since she’s bothered with one, but she doesn’t want Arthur and Celia to see her bruises. All through church, she wore the scarf. Most of the other ladies slip theirs off once inside and tie them on again as services end. Ruth’s scarf, however, draped over her head and tied under her chin, covers the red spot on her lower jaw where Ray struck her with the back of his hand when Floyd left the house that morning. Without the hangover that Ruth could smell on Ray even after his shower, he might have ignored Floyd’s visit. But wherever Ray had been the night before, which was not at home eating strawberry pie, he had drunk plenty.