“What do you want?” Leora asked. The thin man snorted.
“Shut up, mammy.” Farmer rolled his shoulder, wincing like she’d hurt him. Good.
“Bring the car closer,” the thin man said. The driver went off out of sight down the dirt road, past the Caddy. That left two. Could she run away and lose them in the woods?
“Stay down,” said the thin man. “And no more noise out of either of you.” The one with the gun lifted it, like it was something she might have missed.
She didn’t ask again what they wanted. They were kidnappers, had to be: the danger that dirty burning signified. That’s what these men were up to, like in the papers; why else would they be doing this?
Kevin started crying and shivering, and Leora turned her attention back to him. “Shush now,” she told him. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you, baby. They just gonna ask your daddy to give them some money is all.” She hummed the lullaby Big Momma had taught her, soft, no words, so only he would hear, and stroked his hair back from his face. No words. She had never been able to bring herself to sing them.
It worked well enough; his sobbing wound itself down to where she could listen in on their captors.
“—shoulda waited to give the signal on a day she wasn’t riding along.”
“Farmer said he’d be able to separate them. Said he’d have no problems.” A short pause. “Find a way to tie and gag her too. Give me the gun. Somebody could come along any minute.” Smart, that one in the long coat. In fact, she heard an engine now, getting louder, nearer. The police? They had a station on the island’s other side.
“On your feet, mammy.” She looked up from Kevin’s dark-lashed eyes. The sweatered man held out one hand to help her up; a dingy-looking red bandana drooped from the other. She got her legs under her and stood up on her own, the boy a soft weight in her arms. She could see through the leafless trees now, and it was only the black-and-purple sedan from the construction site coming toward them. The man took her by the elbow. The sedan stopped, and he started to steer her to its back door.
“No.” She planted her feet as firm as she could. Prepared to fight. The thin man had said it himself: Stay here and someone would come along eventually. No telling where they’d take her once they got her in the car. Not anyplace she’d want to go.
“I’ll shoot you,” the thin man said. He stepped nearer and the gun’s muzzle dug into her neck. She couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold or both. “I will. Give me half a chance,” he said, and she decided she’d better believe him. Maybe he wouldn’t; maybe a gun would make too much noise. She wasn’t going to find out.
Leora laid Kevin down on the car seat the way she would for a nap. He looked up at her accusingly, as if the kidnapping was her fault, and opened his mouth to say something, but she shook her head and put her finger to her lips. She tried to get in next to him, but the gun pressed harder. “Hold up,” the thin man told her. She stood as still as she could.
The driver got out with a short piece of clothesline hanging from his arm and went into the back on the other side.
“Farmer, my father’s going to be very angry at you.” Kevin’s voice sounded firm and fragile at the same time, like pie crust. “You’d better bring us home right away.”
“All in good time, Mester McGinniss. Give me your hands here, and put ’em together at the wrists. Don’t make us have to shoot nobody, now — yes, that’s the way. I’ll have that gag now.” The sweatered man moved to the other door. They stuck the dirty red bandana over the boy’s mouth.
When they were done with Kevin, it was her turn. The thin man stepped back but kept the gun aimed at her face. “Take your jacket off. Now put it on again, backwards. Leave your arms out.” He had Farmer jerk it down level with her elbows and tie the sleeves behind her. He searched the pockets, confiscating her keys, wadding up her gloves and handkerchief and throwing them in the dirt. Then he picked them up again and crammed the gloves in her mouth with her handkerchief on top, smashing her lips flat when he tied it in back. Farmer put her silk neck scarf over her eyes, knotted it too tight, and that was the last she saw for a while.
They shoved her in next to the boy, laying his head in her lap, she was pretty sure. That was what it felt like. The thin man crowded in beside her; she knew it was him by the gun muzzle he dug in her neck. He pulled her toward himself and pushed her face against his coat’s shoulder. He smelled like Old Spice and dry-cleaning fluid.
Somebody started the car and backed it up the dirt road to where the pavement began again. They turned left and kept driving.
She could feel when they came from under the trees. The sun was so low it struck through the sedan’s windows, warming the back of her head. Almost ready to set.
“They’ll be taking off soon.” That was the sweatered man talking.
“All right, we’ll circle around the island a few times.” The thin man. They didn’t use each others’ names besides Farmer’s. As they talked more she figured out the discussion was about the boat museum’s construction crew going home for the weekend. Farmer said something about ransom money. She had been right. Such a comfort.
Kevin began crying again. With his gag in she felt more than heard him: hot tears soaking her skirt, shoulders trembling. She tried humming the lullaby but this time her voice wouldn’t cooperate. It cracked, wanted to rise up and up, roll out of her loud and high. The gunmetal pressing into her neck muscles put an end to that before it got properly started.
Where were they going? She lost track of the turns: angles, curves, left, right, hummocks and dips that might lead anywhere. Nowhere. The boy’s weeping went on and on. She did her best to shut it from her mind and think how to escape.
The scarf was too tight. Her coat was untied and off; the wind blowing from the river cut through the thin material of her uniform. Her shoes, heavy with mud, slipped on the unseen ladder’s rungs and she held herself on as best she could, arms half-numb from being pinned to her sides. Then she reached the floor. The wind died, and the smell of earth and concrete rose around her.
A shove on her shoulder sent Leora sprawling to the side, but she stayed upright. What was happening? She had to know. She tore at the scarf, her short, blunt fingernails useless. Muffled sobs and shrieks came closer and closer, lower and lower, accompanied by the scrape of leather on wooden rungs.
“Dump him in the corner over there.” That was the thin man, the one who had forced her down the ladder by telling her he had a gun aimed at her head. He gave most of the orders. He was the one she had to convince.
She needed to get calm, get ahold of herself. She had a plan. It had come to her in the car. She willed her hands away from the knotted silk blinding her weeping eyes. Worked instead on the gag, wet with her own drool. Quickly, while they were too busy with Kevin to notice. The handkerchief was cheap, a gift from Big Momma, flimsy cotton. It tore easily and hung in damp shreds around her neck.
“I got a confession,” Leora announced. “About my boy.” Swear words and fast steps filled the darkness. Air brushed her cheek; she flinched.
“Wait.” The thin man again. No blow landed. “Let’s hear her out. Yell for help and you die,” he promised.
“You gone and took the wrong one. This here’s my son.”
More swearing. The thin man cut through it. “You’re saying Farmer made a mistake?”
“I nivver did! That there’s the McGinniss heir — on my life it is!”
“That’s what you think.” She spun them her whole sorry tale. Mr. McGinniss had got her in the family way, she said, and Big Momma sent her off to her sister Rutha’s house in Ontario to have the baby boy and leave him there.