Bent Road

Chapter 11

Standing together in the small hallway between the kitchen and the back porch, Celia straightens Arthur’s collar and centers his newly polished belt buckle.

“That should do it,” she says, patting his chest with both hands.

“Do I have to go?”

Celia lifts up on her bare toes, kisses him once, but he pulls her back, and starts the kiss over. He smells like soap and the aftershave Celia insisted he splash on after she made him shave.

“Yes, you have to go,” she says, wiping away the pink smudge on his upper lip and giving him one more quick kiss before ducking and slipping from between his arms.

“I shouldn’t be leaving all of you alone.” Arthur looks into the living room where Ruth and Evie are thumbing through a photo album, a table lamp throwing a warm circle of light on them. “Where’s Daniel? He should be in here.”

“He’s outside,” Celia says. “Watering Olivia like you told him to. We’ll be fine, Arthur. Everything will be just fine.”

In the week since Celia told Arthur that Ruth is pregnant, he has begun locking doors, something he didn’t bother with once they left Detroit and the smell of burnt rubber behind. He comes home every day now over his lunch break, has fixed the locks on two windows, and has started barking at everyone in the house, except Ruth, about things like scooting in chairs and shutting off lights.

Celia takes his wool coat from the hook near the back door, and in a whisper that won’t carry to the living room, she says, “You go have fun. It’ll be nice that you and Jonathon spend some time together.”

“I see the boy damn near every day.”

“That may be, but you’re going all the same. Enjoy. You always fare well in poker. We’ll all be fine, just fine.”

“You lock up after I leave?”

“Good enough,” Celia says, kisses him one last time on the cheek and locks the door behind him.

Evie runs a hand over the patchwork quilt lying across her legs as Aunt Ruth points to a pink satin square.

“This was your Aunt Eve’s first Sunday dress,” she says. “And this piece is from your father’s favorite pair of jeans. He wore them until his belly was bursting through the buttons.”

Evie snuggles into Aunt Ruth, laughing at the thought of Daddy having such a big belly and searching for another quilt square that might belong to Aunt Eve. “What about this?” she asks, tracing a line around a lavender calico patch.

Aunt Ruth shakes her head. “That was mine. An apron from a doll I once had.”

Next, Evie points to a green velvet square, and as Aunt Ruth nods and smiles, Evie leans forward and brushes one cheek against the soft fabric. It doesn’t smell like Aunt Eve should smell, sweet like a flower, but instead like Grandma Reesa’s basement.

“Eve’s favorite Christmas dress,” Aunt Ruth says. “She tried to wear it to school once. Mother caught her at the back door because the hem stuck out from under her overcoat. My goodness, Mother was angry.” Aunt Ruth pulls a red leather photo album back onto her lap and flips through the early pages. “Here. Yes, here is a picture of that dress.”

Evie wraps the quilt around her shoulders like a cape and presses closer to Aunt Ruth’s side. “Do you think she looks like me?” Evie asks, staring down on a little girl standing on the steps of St. Anthony’s, the same steps where Evie plays every Sunday morning while Daddy and Mama say their hellos.

Touching the little girl’s picture, Aunt Ruth smiles through closed lips, nods but doesn’t answer.

“Did Aunt Eve love the green dress as much as she loves the dresses in her closet?”

“Yes, I’m sure she did.”

“Why does she have all of them?”

Aunt Ruth flips to the next page, and pointing out another picture of Aunt Eve, this one of a little girl sitting alone on Grandma Reesa’s back porch, Aunt Ruth says, “They were to be for her wedding.”

“Aunt Eve is getting married?” Evie pops up on her knees and pulls the quilt to her chin.

“Not now, sweet pea. A long time ago. She wanted each brides-maid to have her own special dress.”

“So she made all of them?”

“We all did. She and I and Mary Robison. Mrs. Robison was, is, a wonderful seamstress.” Aunt Ruth flips to another page in the album. A picture pops loose as she lets the new page fall open. “Here we are,” Aunt Ruth says, tucking the picture back into the white corner tabs. “All three of us. Your Aunt Eve wanted to work with Mary one day, to be as good a seamstress.”

Evie leans forward and squints into the face of Mrs. Robison. The picture was taken long before she grew up and had Julianne, long before Julianne disappeared. The kids at school say that since Julianne is gone, maybe the Robisons will take Evie in trade. Maybe since Julianne was the same age as Evie and had the same white braids, the Robisons will make Evie move in with them. That very Tuesday at recess, Jonah Bucher said he was going to change Evie’s name to Julianne. He said everyone liked Julianne better than Evie anyway. Every other kid said the same and they called Evie by her new name all through recess until Miss Olson made them stop or else she’d call every mother and father of every kid in school.

“What about you, Aunt Ruth? Did you want to sew, too?”

Aunt Ruth pokes both of her thumbs into the air. “I’m all thumbs. Never as handy as those two.”

“Which dress were you going to wear?”

“I hadn’t decided. Whichever Eve chose for me, I suppose. But she was young when we made those dresses. Only dreaming of a wedding. Someday.”

“And did she get older and get married?”

Aunt Ruth closes the photo album, patting the top cover three times and resting her palm there. “Sometimes things don’t work out like we plan.” She smiles down at Evie.

“Well, I think they’re the most beautiful dresses. Maybe I’ll use them when I get married one day.”

“That would make Eve very happy.”

In the kitchen, Mama is making cooking noises-pots and pans rattle and the gas stove goes click, click, click as Mama turns on the back burner that doesn’t work so well. Elaine is off with Jonathon’s mama, learning how to make piecrusts. Evie wonders if Mama’s feelings are hurt because Elaine would rather learn about pies from someone else’s mama. Smelling pot roast and roasted new potatoes, Evie lays her head on Aunt Ruth’s shoulder. The radiator kicks on, making her think of old Mrs. Murray, but only until she remembers that Mama said Mrs. Murray died in a hospital bed. Mama said no one was cooked up on that radiator or any other. Evie closes her eyes and lays her right hand on Aunt Ruth’s stomach.

“Too soon,” Aunt Ruth says. “In a few weeks, maybe.”

Pressing her face into Aunt Ruth’s arm where her nose and lips will warm, Evie knows the baby is too tiny to feel. Mama says it’s like a bean now, like a lima bean, not a pinto bean. She says everyone has to take care of Aunt Ruth so her baby will have strong lungs and a healthy heart. Mama says when the baby comes, Aunt Ruth will move into Elaine’s room and Elaine will move in with Evie, so Aunt Ruth and her baby can have a room all to themselves. Evie wants to ask Aunt Ruth if she will have a blue baby and will Daddy put it in the oven like they did Ian’s baby sister. When Ian’s dad first thought the baby was dead, he put her in the oven until the doctor could come. That’s what Ian said. And then when they opened the door, she was kicking and breathing and all the way alive again. Instead of asking Aunt Ruth if her baby will be blue, Evie closes her eyes and imagines she is like the princess and the pea, except she will feel the lima bean in Aunt Ruth’s stomach.

“Who was Aunt Eve going to marry?” Evie asks, thinking that she probably isn’t a princess because she can’t feel anything except the buttons on Aunt Ruth’s dress.

Taking a deep breath, Aunt Ruth lifts her chin, and says, “A good man. She was supposed to marry a good man.”

Daniel is glad Dad went out for the night. If he were home, he’d be yelling at Daniel about something. That’s what Dad does most of the time now, yells at Daniel. Poking his potatoes and pushing them around the plate, he silently curses when one tumbles onto the red tablecloth Evie put out. Now he wonders if he’ll have to confess to Father Flannery or does it not count if you only think the bad words without actually saying them. Waiting until Mama isn’t paying attention, Daniel picks up the potato chunk and scoots his plate to cover the buttery stain. He glances up, wondering if anyone saw. Aunt Ruth winks and presses a finger to her lips.

Daniel tries to smile back, but every time he looks at Aunt Ruth since she caught him sneaking the rifle, he thinks she knows about the prairie dogs. He imagines that she saw him shoot that animal for no damn good reason, blow its head clean off. That’s what Ian had said. He went back and found that prairie dog with its head blown all the way off and showed it to his brothers so they would stop calling Daniel a city kid. Ian said he lifted that dead prairie dog up by its tail and flung it as far as he could, and his brothers had said Daniel must be a pretty good shot to blow off the head but leave the rest. Biting his lower lip and stabbing a new potato with his fork, Daniel wishes he’d never shot that prairie dog because he can’t ever take it back. But he did, and Aunt Ruth knows he has been taking the gun without permission.

“What was that?” Evie says, her mouth full of a buttered biscuit.

Daniel shakes his head at her. “Stop talking with food in your mouth.”

Evie swallows, rocking her head forward to help the biscuit go down. “There’s nothing in my mouth.”

“There,” Aunt Ruth says, staring past Daniel toward the kitchen window. “Is that what you heard?”

Mama pushes back from the table. “I didn’t hear anything,” she says, pressing out the pleats on the front of her dress. It’s what she does when she’s nervous, like when Dad went to meetings in Detroit about the Negro workers or the news showed pictures of burned-up cars and buildings. She hasn’t done it much since they moved to Kansas where they haven’t seen a single Negro or burned-up car. Also, Mama doesn’t wear skirts with pleats much anymore.

Evie nods, wiping a crumb from her chin. “That. What is it?”

Daniel turns in his seat, careful not to scoot his chair or make any noise. Through the white sheers, the window is black. “It’s the wind.”

“That’s not wind,” Evie says too loudly.

Daniel frowns and quiets her with a finger to his lips.

Again, as loudly as before, Evie says, “That was not wind. That was a thud. There it is again.”

“Yes,” Mama says, still pressing her pleats. “I hear it.”

“I think Daniel’s right.” Aunt Ruth tucks her napkin under the lip of her plate and stands. “Probably the wind. But to be on the safe side, I’ll check.”

“No, Aunt Ruth,” Daniel says, standing with a jerk and catching his chair before it tumbles over. “I’ll go. I should go.”

“Both of you stay put,” Mama says. “I’ll have a look.”

Evie jumps out of her seat and leaps toward Mama. “Let Daniel go,” she says.

Mama wraps an arm around Evie and kisses the top of her head. All four turn when something bumps the side of the house just below the kitchen window. The white sheers tremble.

“Someone’s outside the window,” Evie says, her voice muffled because her face is pressed into Mama’s side.

“Na,” Daniel says, watching the curtains, waiting for another thud. “There’s no one out there.” But he’s not sure now. The wind doesn’t bump into the house or stumble around the side yard. He wishes his heart weren’t beating so loudly because he can’t hear over it. He hates his God damned beating heart when he can’t hear over it, even tries to hold his breath to slow it down.

At the sound of another thud, Evie pulls away from Mama and points at the window. “It’s a Clark City man,” she says. “That’s what it is.” And then she whispers. “It’s Jack Mayer. He’s back and he’s looking for food. Maybe he’s even got Julianne with him.”

“Shut up, Evie,” Daniel says. “It’s not a Clark City man. And it’s not Jack Mayer. Shut up.”

As the weather has turned colder, the pond near the curve in Bent Road has shrunk, dried up like every other pond around. Every time Daniel passes it, he looks for the tips of Jack Mayer’s boots, thinking he might be lying at the bottom of that pond. Daniel has never seen him, and Ian says he won’t because Jack Mayer has to be alive since he’s the one who swiped Julianne Robison.

“Kids, please,” Mama says. “Stop your bickering.”

Aunt Ruth tucks Evie under her arm while Mama sidesteps toward the back door.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mama says, but she’s inching toward the porch like she definitely thinks it’s something. “Evie, you stay here with Daniel and Ruth. I’ll go…”

“No, Mama.” Daniel walks around the table, tilts his head down and looks up at Mama from under his brow. “I’ll give a look-see.”

It’s what Dad would have said.

Stepping onto the porch, Daniel pulls the door closed behind him and exhales a frosted cloud. He yanks on the knob again, listening for the click that tells him the door is latched good and tight, and once he hears it, he thinks he should feel more like a man. Instead, he slouches and pulls up the collar of Dad’s flannel jacket because maybe whoever is stomping around their side yard will mistake Daniel for Dad. Mama says that by his next birthday, Daniel will be as tall as Dad. Keep eating Aunt Ruth’s good cooking, she says, and you’ll be as broad, too. He gives Aunt Ruth, Mama and Evie a thumbs-up sign through the window in the back door and walks across the screened-in porch. With the toes of his leather boots hanging over the first stair, he sees nothing or no one as far as the porch light reaches.

Ian had clipped out the latest story about Jack Mayer from page 3 of the Hays Chronicle, the shortest one yet, and one of many that didn’t make page 1. After nearly four months, police now believe Jack Mayer has either left the Palco area or has died of exposure. Authorities at the Clark City State Hospital declined to comment on Jack Mayer’s whereabouts, other than to say the hospital had successfully implemented new security measures. After Ian showed Daniel the article that he kept under his mattress along with a dozen others about Jack Mayer, he took Daniel out to the barn and showed him a wadded-up flannel blanket and empty tin can that were hidden behind three hay bales and an old wheelbarrow. Daniel kicked the can across the dirt floor. Ian stumbled after it, his right side lagging behind because he didn’t have on his new boots, picked it up, and placed it back with the blanket because he thought the tin can and blanket were proof positive that Jack Mayer was alive and well and living in the Bucher barn. “No need to make a crazy man mad,” Ian had said as he cleaned the brim of the can with his shirttail.

At the bottom of the stairs, Daniel tucks his bare hands under his arms, stomps his feet, and looking toward the barn, he wonders if Jack Mayer might just be hiding in there. Mama found the pie that Aunt Ruth baked for Father Flannery and nothing else has gone missing in the house except the last piece of Evie’s birthday cake, which Daniel knows Dad ate but won’t admit. Ian said their food disappeared all the time. He said Jack Mayer stole it right off their kitchen counter. He said Jack Mayer crawled through their windows every night and helped himself to corn muffins, sliced pork roast and ham and bean soup. Daniel asked Ian how he could be sure Jack Mayer was eating all that food with so many brothers living in the house. Ian had said that no man alive could eat like Jack Mayer because Jack Mayer is a mountain of a man.

Walking into the center of the gravel drive, Daniel turns in a slow circle. Mr. Murray’s old rusted car is still parked behind the garage. Mama complains about it, says it’s dangerous to have around with young children in the house, but Dad says the children aren’t so young anymore and he’ll get to it when he gets to it. Next to the garage, near the fence line, stands the chicken coop that Dad and Jonathon started to build. Halfway through, Mama said no chickens because she saw the mess they left at Grandma Reesa’s and because she didn’t want to have any more dead chickens hanging in her yard. Dad told Jonathon he could have the wood if he’d tear it down.

Beyond the three-sided chicken coup, and opposite the garage, the barn seems to lean more than it did when they moved in. Wondering who or what is hiding out there, Daniel wishes he had grabbed his rifle. But what if it is Julianne? What if Jack Mayer stashed her in there? More than ever, Daniel wishes Mama would have slammed into Jack Mayer at the top of Bent Road. But Ian’s right. Mama must not have hit him, at least not directly, because he swiped Julianne Robison and a dead man couldn’t do that. If Mama would have hit Jack Mayer, Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally shooting Julianne and blowing her head off like he did when he shot that prairie dog.

Twice, in the week since he killed that animal, Daniel has gone shooting with Ian. He can sneak the gun out and return it, tucked back in the gun cabinet, fingerprints wiped off the glass, lock snapped in place, before Dad gets home from work. Shooting tin cans and glass bottles instead of prairie dogs, Ian says Daniel is a good shot, a damn good shot. Ian says that if Daniel practices a lot, almost every day, he will be the best shot of any kid around. Daniel wants to run back to get that gun but it seems so far away now. He hears the sound again, a loud thud coming from the side of the house near the kitchen window.

Taking slow, quiet steps, Daniel slides one foot in a sideways direction and meets it with the other as he walks in an arch that will lead him around the side of the house. He looks behind and ahead, behind and ahead, and at the edge of the boundary laid down by the porch light, he stops and listens. In between wind gusts, he hears something crushing small patches of dry grass. There is a rustling sound, another thud, his own heartbeat. He leans to his right, peering around the side of the house without stepping outside the yellow light. He leans farther, bending forward and bracing himself with one hand on his knee. Something moves. A dark shadow. Daniel stumbles, stands straight and presses a hand over his heart.

He knows now that Sheriff Bigler didn’t haul Uncle Ray off to Clark City but that he is living in Damar for as long as William Ellis will keep him, hopefully until he’s dried out. When Daniel thought his uncle was locked up, he imagined Uncle Ray might escape like Jack Mayer and live off stolen leftovers. Before he knew Uncle Ray was living far away in Damar, Daniel would lie awake at night, listening for him. He would imagine opening his eyes and seeing Uncle Ray’s face pressed against his window, his breath fogging the glass so Daniel couldn’t quite see which way that bad eye was pointing. But Damar was a whole other town and Uncle Ray was with a whole other family. This is when Daniel began to imagine Jack Mayer’s face pressed against his window. His breath would be cold and wouldn’t fog the glass like Uncle Ray’s. Then Christmas got closer, and Mama said the best store for wool fabric was in Damar, and since she needed a new dress for the holidays and Damar was only a few miles away, the whole family should go. Now, standing in the middle of the gravel drive, the thud ringing in his ears, Daniel doesn’t know if he should be afraid of Uncle Ray, who isn’t living so far away, or Jack Mayer.

His heart has begun to beat so loudly that Daniel isn’t sure if he hears the next sound. If he had been sure, he wouldn’t have looked around the corner again. Instead, he would have waited and listened or maybe run for the house, but his beating heart is like cotton in his ears, so he braces himself again and leans forward. Even though the maple that grows along the side of the house is bare, all of its leaves raked up and burned in the trash barrel, the moonlight shining through the empty branches is not enough to light up anything that might be hiding. The light from the kitchen throws shadows on the nearest branches but doesn’t reach any farther. If the something is still there, hiding under the window, it isn’t moving now, and Daniel can’t tell it apart from the rest of the darkness. He takes a step forward, watching, listening, and the shadow shifts again.

Holding his breath, Daniel thinks he hears something. It sounds like metal clanking against metal, like a chain tangled up with itself. He crouches down, pressing both palms on the ground. The back door doesn’t seem so far away now. He could run to it, reach it in a dozen steps, but he can’t move. Yes, that is the sound of a tangled-up chain, broken handcuffs. He hears breathing-heavy, hot, long breaths-and footsteps crushing dry dead grass, footsteps kicking up gravel.

Hoping to see that Aunt Ruth and Mama are watching him through the screened door, he glances at the porch, but sees no one. Aunt Ruth’s stomach is beginning to swell but she covers it with aprons and Elaine’s skirts that she cinches up at the waist with safety pins. “You’re in charge,” Dad had said to Daniel before leaving. Mama had smiled and brushed the hair from his eyes. For a moment, Daniel imagines Julianne is sneaking around the side of the house. He could be the one to find her. He’d be a hero and kids would like him without even caring how good of a shot he is. Daniel drops his head again, knowing the breathing and chains and footsteps are closer even though his heartbeat has filled his ears. He decides it can’t be Julianne because she wouldn’t be wrapped in chains. He inhales, raises his eyes first and next his chin. Still crouched, his palms pressed to the ground, he cries out and falls backward.

“God damn,” he says. “Good God damn already.”

Standing at the corner of the house, her head inside the yellow cone of light, Olivia the cow looks down on Daniel. She seems to nod at him, and then she drops her snout to nuzzle the cold, hard ground. Her lead dangles from the red leather neck strap, the buckle and bolt-snap rattling like loose chain. Dad will be angry if he sees someone forgot to take it off.

“Good God damn.”