Bent Road

Chapter 16

Daniel grabs the back of Aunt Ruth’s seat as Dad takes a sharp turn into Grandma Reesa’s drive. He falls to the left, squishing Evie, and when the car straightens, they both sit up and Evie punches him in the arm.

“Get off me,” she says.

In the front seat, Mama grabs the dashboard. “Are we in such a hurry?”

Dad doesn’t answer until he has stopped near the garage and thrown the car into park.

“This family,” he says, staring straight ahead, “will never go to St. Anthony’s again.”

The car is silent for a moment. Daniel watches for what Grandma Reesa might do because she is the one who cares the most about church. Instead, Aunt Ruth, whose lips are smeared with a pink shadow, speaks.

“That’s not the answer, Arthur. Not on my account.”

Dad slams his hands on the steering wheel. Mama, who is sitting in the front seat, and Elaine, who is wedged between Aunt Ruth and Grandma Reesa, both jump. Aunt Ruth presses her hands over her mouth, Grandma Reesa lets out one of her groans and Evie’s chin puckers. Then the car is quiet. Daniel closes his eyes so his chin won’t pucker like Evie’s.

“I think you should all hustle inside,” Mama says quietly. “Evie, you and Elaine help Grandma set the table. Daniel, maybe you can start a fire. A fire would be nice.”

Daniel nods. Aunt Ruth opens one door, Grandma Reesa the other. A blast of cold air shoots through the car as Evie and Daniel crawl out from the last seat in the station wagon. Before Daniel steps out of the car, he turns back. He wants to tell Dad that he saw Uncle Ray at the Buchers’ and that he is going to drive a grader. He wants to ask him about hunting for quail and pheasant and if it’s as easy to shoot a bird as it is to shoot a prairie dog. He wants to ask Dad to help him practice before the Bucher brothers take him hunting. But when Dad glares at him, Daniel knows not to speak. Instead, he climbs out of the car and closes the door behind him.

Waiting until the others have gone inside, Celia inhales, filling her lungs with crisp, dry air, and lays her hands in her lap.

“You shouldn’t have sent Ruth to sit with Ray,” she says.

Arthur crosses his arms on the steering wheel and rests his chin there. “One good snow will bring down that roof,” he says.

A few yards in front of the car, overgrown cordgrass, brown and brittle, has nearly swallowed up Reesa’s small shed.

“Lot of good snows over the years, I suppose,” Celia says. “And it’s still standing. Help me understand, Arthur. Why do that to Ruth?”

Arthur is quiet for a moment, staring straight ahead. “Are you sorry I brought you here?” he says, still looking at the shed and not at Celia.

His dark hair has grown past his collar, making him look younger and somehow stronger. Celia stretches her arm across the back of the seat and weaves her fingers into the dark waves.

“No. Well, sometimes.” She smiles but Arthur doesn’t see. “I’m glad we’re here for Ruth. And for our family. Elaine is certainly happy.”

“Yeah, Elaine’s happy.” He nods but doesn’t smile. “What about Evie and Daniel?”

Celia crosses her hands in her lap. “Happy enough. They’ll make more friends along the way.”

“That’s where we found her,” Arthur says, nodding toward the small shed.

“Who?” Celia says, sitting forward on her seat. “Do you mean Eve? You found Eve there?”

“Don’t know why Mother keeps it around.”

Celia falls back in her seat. “Right here. So close to home?”

Arthur nods and hangs his head between his arms. “The best I can do is to keep track of Ray,” he says. “It’s the best I can do. For now.” He lifts his head and kneads his brow with the palm of his hand. “I’ll take care of her.”

Celia nods.

“I’ll take care of Ruth,” he says again, this time speaking more to himself than to Celia.

“Yes, Arthur, you will. I know you will.” Wishing she meant what she said, Celia brushes her hand against his cheek. He leans into her touch. “People were different today. Did you notice? In church, they were different.”

Arthur glances at her but doesn’t answer.

“They think Ray did it.” Celia pauses but no response. She looks back at the shed that seems larger now. “They really think he took Julianne, don’t they?”

Still no answer.

“Because of what happened to Eve. Because Julianne was so like her.”

“Small town. Nothing much else for folks to talk about.”

“But what if he did? What if…”

“Ray didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Eve.”

“How do you know that, Arthur? How do you really, really know for sure?” Celia touches his hand. “You’ve always said how much Evie resembles your sister. Like Julianne did. If people really think… we have to consider it. For Evie’s sake. My God, Arthur. You found Eve dead right here,” she says, pointing across the drive toward the shed. “Right outside your mother’s house. How can you be so sure? You promised Ruth, remember? You promised her you wouldn’t be too sure of yourself.”

Arthur nods and lays a hand over Celia’s. “We’ll go to Hays from now on. For mass, we’ll go to Hays.”

Celia needs to trust him. Now, more than any other time, she needs to trust Arthur. And maybe she could have until she saw the looks on people’s faces today. Most of them have probably known Ray all their lives. And all of them believe.

“I think it would be a nice drive for all of us,” Celia says, trying to swallow the lump that has formed in her throat. “It’s a lovely church.”

Arthur nods. “Hays’ll be fine.”

Evie listens for Daniel in the hallway outside Aunt Eve’s room. He is supposed to start a fire and that always takes him a good, long time. Grandma Reesa says the trees of Rooks County are plenty safe if the matches are in Daniel’s hands. Hearing nothing, she opens her small plastic tote and lays it on the bed. She blows the dust out of the corners and looks around the room. The Virgin Mary won’t fit inside the small case, and even if she did, Grandma Reesa would notice if Mary went missing. She is still mad at Daddy for gluing the hands back on, even though she said he could do it. Grandma says it’s shameful to use plain old glue on the Virgin Mary and to leave clumps of it stuck to her wrists. Evie walks to the table where the statue sits and touches the seam where Daddy glued her left hand onto her left wrist. She lifts Mary, tilts her back and forth, feels the weight of her before gently placing her back on the table.

Pausing to listen for footsteps again, but hearing nothing except the faraway clatter of Grandma Reesa’s pots and pans, she walks to the dresser next to the Virgin Mary’s table, opens the small, center drawer and peeks inside.

“Are these your pictures?” she says.

She giggles, feels that she’s done something naughty by talking to Aunt Eve like she’s right here in the same room. Glancing around, she muffles another giggle with one hand and, with the other, lifts out a small silver frame with a picture of Grandma Reesa when she wasn’t so big and a man, who must have been Grandpa. Evie holds the picture close to her face.

“He doesn’t look so nice. Was he a nice dad?”

No one answers. After propping the picture up on the cabinet, she takes out another.

“Just look at you,” she says, smiling down on a picture of Aunt Eve and Daddy. “Your hair is like mine. Look,” she says, holding up one of her own thin braids. “Just like mine.”

Evie sets the picture next to the first one and pulls the drawer open a little farther.

“Who is this?” she asks, and then nods. “It’s you, isn’t it? You seem so happy. Look at how you’re smiling.”

Pulling one sleeve down over her hand, Evie wipes the glass in the last frame and holds up the picture. A young man, much younger than Daddy, is lifting Aunt Eve off the ground. His arms are wrapped around her waist and Aunt Eve is smiling and holding a wide straw hat on her head with one hand so it won’t fall off. She is a girl, almost as old as Elaine, but not quite. The man is wearing a brown cowboy hat pushed high on his forehead. He has dark hair and is staring at Evie through the camera lens. Evie tilts her head left and right.

“He looks like Uncle Ray,” she says, smiling. “He’s so young and his eye is not so bad.”

Then she remembers the Uncle Ray who came to the house wanting a piece of Aunt Ruth’s pie and frowns. She looks around the room, at the closet full of dresses, at the Virgin Mary, at the window over the bed, wishing Aunt Eve would tell her the man isn’t Uncle Ray, but she doesn’t. Still hearing the clatter of Grandma Reesa’s pots and pans, Evie puts the first two pictures back in the center drawer, closes it and lays the third picture, the one of Aunt Eve and the happy man, in her small bag.