Bent Road

Chapter 23

Celia cracks a third egg, cracks it so hard that the shell collapses in her hand leaving the yolk and white to slide through her fingers and into the dumpling dough. Dropping the shell into the sink and wiping her hands on the dishtowel tucked in her apron, she picks up a wooden spoon and stirs the thick dough. After a few minutes, she shifts the spoon to her other hand and continues to dig and grind until she’s breathing heavily. Pausing once to roll her head from side to side, she shifts hands again, wraps her forearm around the bowl, drops the spoon and kneads the dough by hand. On the front burner, the chicken stock grows from a simmer to a rolling boil.

“Take it easy,” Arthur says, leaning back in his chair and stretching.

Celia glances up at Arthur, but says nothing, and instead reaches for another egg. Reesa shakes her head. Celia grabs the egg anyway, cracks it as hard as the last and throws the empty shell toward the sink. She misses, and as it falls on the floor, she wipes her hands across the front of her white blouse.

Her right arm still in a sling, Ruth leaps from her seat to scoop up the shell. “A nice warm meal always makes things better,” she says. “Always makes the house smell so wonderful.” She talks as she picks up every piece of the slippery shell as if no one will notice the mess if she keeps talking.

“Making this house smell pretty good, that’s for sure,” Arthur says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

Celia takes a teaspoon from the drawer and begins to dip up the dough and drop it into the boiling broth, ignoring the fact that it’s too runny because she’s added one too many eggs. She clears her throat and chokes back a sob when Ruth, after cleaning the egg shell from her fingers, steps forward and whispers, “The kids are fine, Celia. Evie is fine. Safe and sound.”

Pausing mid scoop, while Ruth kneads another cup of flour into the dough, Celia says to Reesa, “I’ve asked that Evie return all of Eve’s things to you, along with an apology. I don’t know what she was thinking. And getting in that truck with Ray.” She stops, swallows. “We need to call Floyd and report this.”

“Report what?” Arthur says. “He gave the girl a ride home. Damn fool that he is, he just gave her a ride home.”

“They are searching his farm,” Celia says, stirring her broth. “Searching it with dogs. And he took Evie there. You know what that means.”

Arthur brushes his hair back from his face and takes a deep breath before speaking. “For twenty-five years, Floyd has been thinking Ray had something to do with what happened to Eve.” His eyes are swollen from his having rubbed them and from being tired. “That’s the only reason he’s keeping such an eye on Ray. Listen, I’ll keep him clear of this family, that’s for sure. And I know the man is up to plenty of no good, but I don’t believe for a minute that he hurt Julianne Robison.”

Celia throws her teaspoon into the broth, jumping back when it splashes up. “What about the night Julianne disappeared? He wasn’t home. Ruth said so.” Celia stands, hand on hips. “He could have done it. How can you know?”

“Evie doesn’t have any friends.”

Everyone turns. Daniel stands outside his bedroom, his hair tousled and his eyes red as if he woke up from having cried himself to sleep.

“At school. She doesn’t have any friends at school. Neither do I, except for Ian. It’s not like in Detroit. Nobody likes us here.”

Celia, pulling off her apron, walks toward Daniel. He takes a few steps backward. “What do you mean, Daniel?”

“Just that. No friends. Except for Aunt Eve.”

“Of course she has friends,” Celia says.

Daniel shakes his head. “She did back home. Had plenty back then. But not here. They call her nigger lover. Have ever since we started school. Because we lived in Detroit. Called me one, too, until Ian started being my friend. The kids, they all tell Evie she’s here because Jack Mayer stole Julianne Robison. Or maybe Uncle Ray took her. They say one of them’s bound to steal Evie next.”

“They say that to Evie?” Celia drops back against the kitchen counter.

Arthur shakes his head. Reesa makes a clucking sound.

“She sits by herself every day. At recess. Lunch. Everywhere. She’s so small. They call her names. Tell her she’s too small for Kansas. Sometimes Miss Olson sits with her at lunch. But Evie just pretends Miss Olson is Aunt Eve. Miss Olson isn’t so small, though.”

Ruth steps up to Celia’s side. Her body is warm and she smells like Elaine’s lavender lotion.

“How did I not know this?” she says to Ruth. “How could she be so unhappy and I not know?”

“She wasn’t unhappy,” Daniel says. “As long as she had Aunt Eve. That’s why she took all that stuff. I guess that’s why she wore the dress. But now she doesn’t even have Aunt Eve. I think she’s kind of scared about getting taken like Julianne. And she feels pretty bad about Olivia, too.” He takes a few more steps away when Celia pushes off the counter. He shakes his head. “I understand though, about it being the kindest thing. To kill her, I mean. Just wish I hadn’t left that gate open.”

Arthur glances up at Celia before lowering his head to talk into the tabletop. “Cows like that get out all the time,” he says. “They’re jumpers. Could have jumped out.”

Daniel stares at Arthur, not like a boy looks at his father, but like one man looks at another. Arthur tries to hold the stare long enough and hard enough that Daniel will believe Olivia was a jumper, but he can’t manage it. He drops his eyes.

“I don’t want to go to Ian’s tomorrow,” Daniel says, still staring at the top of Arthur’s head.

Celia nods. “Certainly, Daniel. Whatever you want. Get some rest now. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

When Mama calls him to dinner, Daniel says he’s too tired. Even when Mama opens the door a sliver and offers him a plate of Aunt Ruth’s stewed chicken, Daniel rolls away and says no. Now, he can hear them, all of them, in the kitchen, their silverware clattering on the table, pots and pans being passed from place to place. They are probably talking about poor Evie and Daniel who have no friends. They probably think Evie is sick because she wore Aunt Eve’s dress to school and that Daniel will never grow to be a man. He should have pulled the trigger and shot Olivia. No matter how stiff and heavy, no matter what kind of mess he would have made, he should have pulled it. That’s what a man would have done. He would have carried the weight of that shotgun on his shoulder and pulled the God damn trigger.

Rolling over again and staring at the light shining under his door, Daniel hopes Ian will go pheasant hunting without him. He hopes Ian can be a pusher and that his black boots will help him keep up with his brothers. Maybe they’ll do well, shoot a dozen birds or so, and then Jacob, the oldest Bucher brother, who only comes home on occasional weekends, will toss them all in his truck and drive to Nicodemus so they can flush out Jack Mayer. Maybe Ian will even get a shot at old Jack Mayer. Through the sight on his dad’s shotgun, Ian will spot the man who’s big as a mountain and black as midnight, and he’ll take a shot. Even if he misses, even if Jack Mayer slips away because he’s dark as night, Ian will have gotten off a shot and he’ll never be quite as crooked again. And Daniel is Ian’s friend, his best friend. Daniel will never be a city kid again if Ian gets off a good shot.