Nathaniel

CHAPTER TWENTY

As the summer wore on, the heat of the prairie filled Janet with a languor she was unused to. At first she attributed it only to the weather, but when she finally talked to a doctor in North Platte about it, she was told that she had to expect her body to concentrate most of its energy on the baby growing inside her and that the best thing she could do was listen to the messages her body was sending her, and take life as easy as possible. And for a while, she was able to relax.

The farm needed little attention, and Michael was more than able to feed their few chickens, tend the cow, and keep the barn in order. Janet concentrated on turning the third bedroom into a nursery, and discovered that even that was no trouble. Just as they had for the farm itself, now people dropped by with things they "thought the baby might be able to use."

For a while, Janet kept a watchful eye on Michael, but as July passed into August, and he complained less and less about his headaches, she began to feel that perhaps the worst was over. Even Laura seemed to have been calmed by the summer weather.

Laura and Janet had grown closer. As Laura's strength returned to her, she began spending more and more time at the farm, helping Janet with her first experiments at canning, teaching her the little tricks that made running the farm easier. And she had an endless curiosity about Janet's life in New York.

At first, Janet assumed that Laura's primary interest was in her brother, that she wanted to know what Mark had been like in all the years of their estrangement. But as time went on, it became clearer that for Laura, talking to Janet was the closest she would ever come to the life she had always dreamed about, and when Janet described the rhythms of the city, told her about the galleries and museums, the shows and the parties, it was almost as if Laura was experiencing them herself.

It was on a day in late August, when the prairie was shimmering with heat and they were sitting on the front porch whiling away the afternoon by talking about all the things they should be doing-and would do, once the heat broke-that Janet finally asked Laura why she had stayed in Prairie Bend.

Laura smiled, a soft smile that reflected both sadness and longing. "By the time I knew what I wanted, it was too late," she said. "I was already married, and Ryan was born, and I just let myself drift along. For a while, I thought about taking Ryan and just leaving, but I always seemed to get pregnant just when I had my mind made up. When you're pregnant, you may feel like running away from home, but it just isn't practical, is it?"

Janet let one hand fall to the swelling in her torso, then brushed a damp strand of hair from her brow. "Not practical doesn't begin to express it. It's funny-when I was pregnant with Michael, I had so much energy I used to frighten Mark. He was always telling me to slow down- take it easier. He was sure I was going to lose the baby. But this time, it's all different. I don't even feel like getting up from this chair."

"You're not as young as you were then," Laura pointed out.

"But look at you," Janet argued. "You weren't taking it easy in May, and you're not that much younger than I am." Then, as Laura's smile faded away, Janet started to apologize for her careless words, but Laura stopped her.

"It's all right, Janet," she said. "And you're right, I wasn't taking it easy. But it wouldn't have made any difference. They would have killed my baby anyway. That's one of the reasons I didn't take it easy-sometimes I can pretend that what happened to the baby was my fault. Isn't that silly? It's easier for me if I can pretend that the baby would have lived if I'd just done something differently. But it isn't true. With Becky, I was so terribly careful, and then-well, I won't go into that anymore." Suddenly she stood up and went to the end of the porch. Though Janet couldn't see her face, she knew that Laura was gazing at Potter's Field.

"I keep thinking I ought to go out there," Janet said when the silence at last became unbearable. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and think I ought to go out there and look around that field."

Laura turned around to face her once more, and when she spoke her voice was low, and slightly trembling. "Do you?" she asked. "Or are you just saying that? Do you really believe what I've told you about what's happened to my babies, or are you just like the doctors, only pretending to believe me?"

Janet had been hoping this confrontation would never come, hoping that her failure to argue with Laura would be enough. But now the question had been asked, and she had to answer it.

"I don't know," she said. "It seems totally illogical. I just can't imagine Amos and Dr. Potter doing such a thing. Amos seems so-well, so steady-and so did Dr. Potter."

"Then you don't believe me," Laura pressed.

Janet sighed heavily, and before she replied, she looked around for Michael. But neither he nor Shadow were anywhere in sight. "Michael believes you," she said, her voice low.

"Michael?" Laura replied, her voice sounding dazed.

"What do you mean, Michael believes me? Have you talked to him about it?"

Janet shook her head. "I didn't have to. He talked about it himself." Briefly, she told Laura what had happened at the dry goods store the day after they had moved into the little house.

"And then when Ione Simpson said there weren't any little girls named Becky around here, Michael said he bet Becky had been killed, and buried in Potter's Field."

Laura's face paled, but Janet pressed on. "He seems to think his grandfather killed your baby. Not only that, but he thinks Amos killed Mark, and wants to kill him as well."

"Dear God," Laura whispered. "But how does he know?"

"It sounds crazy," Janet replied, then smiled in spite of herself. "There's that word again. Anyway, he claims he saw Amos kill Mark in a dream, and he claims he saw something happen to your baby the night it was born."

"But he wasn't there-"

"No, he was out here that night-out at the Simpsons'. Eric's mare was foaling, and Michael was watching. And then on the way home, something happened. He said he fell off his bicycle, but when he got back to the Halls', he was incredibly upset. He wasn't hurt, except for a few scratches, but he seemed terrified by something. And then there were the headaches," she added, though her mind was already on something else. It was only a fleeting memory, an image of Michael, bent over Anna's chair, while Anna kissed him goodnight.

Except Anna hadn't been kissing him. She'd been whispering something to him, her voice so low that no one but Michael had been able to hear her.

"Laura," Janet asked, the memory of that brief whisper refusing to disappear, "what about Anna? Does she know what you think happened to your babies?"

Laura's face set in bitterness. "She knows. But in the end, she always believes whatever Father, tells her. Out here, that's the way it is. No one believes me, Janet."

"Except Mark. Mark believed you, didn't he?"

Laura's pallor increased, but she said nothing.

"It's all right," Janet told her. "I read the letter you wrote him. He left it for me, along with a note." She fell silent, wondering how much to tell Laura. "The note was strange, Laura," she said carefully. "It was as if he knew he might die if he came back here."

"And he did, didn't he?" Laura replied, her voice lifeless. "It's my fault, isn't it? I should never have written to him at all. But I was so frightened. I put that letter off for so long, but then, after I got pregnant again, I just had to write to him. I had to, Janet. I never wanted him to come out here-I just wanted him to tell me what happened the night he ran away. But I guess he thought I was crazy, didn't he?"

Janet nodded. "That's what I thought, when I read the notes. But now I'm not so sure. What if he believed you? What if he came out here because he believed you?"

"But-"

Janet ignored the interruption. "Your mother, Laura. Let's go talk to your mother. She must know something."

Anna's gaze wandered from Laura to Janet, then returned to her daughter. "I've never spoken about that night to anyone," she said finally. "Why should I tell you about it now?"

Laura's eyes brimmed with tears. "Because I have to know," she pleaded. "Can't you understand, Mother? I've been terrified most of my life. And my babies. What about my babies, Mother? What really happened to them?"

Anna's eyes narrowed. "Your babies were born dead, just like mine."

"Were they, Anna?" Janet asked. "Laura doesn't think so, and I don't believe Mark thought so, either."

"How do you know that?" Anna's voice rose, and her hands gripped the arms of her chair. For a moment, she seemed about to lift herself up, but then she slumped back. "Did Mark say something?" she asked. "Did he ever talk about the night he left?"

"No," Janet replied. "But he left me a note. And a letter he'd gotten from Laura."

"You wrote to him?" Anna demanded of her daughter. "After he abandoned us, you wrote to him?"

Laura hesitated, then nodded her head. "He was my brother. I loved him. And I needed to know why he went away. But now he's dead, Mother, and so you have to tell us. You have to."

"I don't have to," Anna replied, her voice low. "I've never talked about that night because I don't know what happened that night." Her voice broke, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's been the same for me as it has for you, Laura. Don't you understand? I-I thought they killed my baby, too."

"Dear God," Janet whispered. "But why? Why would anybody want to kill a baby?"

"I didn't say they did. I said I thought they did. But I could never prove it. They told me the baby was born dead, and I could never prove it wasn't. But I felt that baby. I felt that baby alive inside me, and deep inside, I've never been able to convince myself that Amos didn't kill it. And I've never forgiven him for it, even though I don't know if he did it." Suddenly a twisted smile distorted her face. "Maybe that's what crippled me," she whispered. "Maybe this is my punishment for my evil thoughts about my husband." Her voice turned wistful. "I want to walk, you know. Maybe if I knew myself what happened that night, I might be able to walk again."

There was silence in the room for several long seconds, a silence that was finally broken by Laura. "Maybe Michael knows what happened that night," she said at last. Anna stared at her with disbelieving eyes.-"He-he knows what happened to my baby, Mother," she went on. "He told Janet he saw them kill it-"

Anna swung around, her eyes locking on Janet. "That's impossible," she said. "He wasn't there that night. He couldn't have seen anything."

"I know," Janet agreed, her voice reflecting her own disbelief. "But he says he saw it." She hesitated, then went on. "He says Nathaniel showed him what happened."

"Nathaniel?" Anna repeated. "But there is no Nathaniel-"

"Michael says there is," Janet replied.

"Do you believe him?"

Janet shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what to believe anymore-"

"I want to talk to him," Anna said suddenly. "Alone. I want to talk to him alone. And I want you to tell me everything else Michael has said."

Michael stared down into the depths of the swimming hole, and saw the collection of boulders that choked the bottom. Here and there, the larger ones rose nearly to the surface, and not more than five feet from the place where he had dropped into the water only three months ago, a broad flat plane of rock had replaced the water entirely. He looked up, and met his cousin's gaze.

"I said you were lucky," Ryan told him as if he'd read the thoughts in Michael's mind.

But Michael shook his head. "I knew I wasn't going to get hurt," he said.

"Bullshit," Ryan replied. He gave Eric a disgusted look. "You shoulda seen it-it was all muddy, and you couldn't see anything. And he did a backflip off the tire."

Eric turned suspicious eyes on Michael, but when he spoke, it was to Ryan. "Maybe he came down here earlier and found out where the rocks were."

"I did not," Michael protested. "I'd never even been here before. But I knew I wasn't going to get hurt."

"How did you know?" Eric demanded.

Michael knew he couldn't explain it. How could he tell them what it had been like, when he couldn't really figure it out himself? Still, Ryan and Eric were staring at him, and he had to say something.

"It-it was like somebody was there, whispering into my ear, telling me where to dive. I wasn't even scared. I just sort of knew that nothing could happen to me."

Ryan stared at him with scorn in his eyes. "If nothing can happen to you, how come you managed to stick a pitchfork through your foot?"

"I didn't do that. Grandpa did that."

"Aw, come off it, Michael. Grandpa didn't do it. You're so full of shit!"

"I am not!" Michael flared.

"You are too," Ryan shot back. "Like remember that day old man Findley caught us in the woods, and you said what he was really worried about was the barn?"

"Y-yes-" Michael admitted.

"Well, you said you'd show us what he was so worried about sometime, but you never did. You're just as scared of him as everybody else is."

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

Michael's eyes narrowed. His head began to ache, and in the depths of his mind, he heard Nathaniel's voice, warning him. But it was too late. If he backed down now, Ryan and Eric would never let him forget it. Besides, it would be an adventure, and a forbidden adventure at that.

He ignored Nathaniel's warnings. "All right then, let's go over there."

Shadow suddenly stirred from his position at Michael's feet, and a low growl rumbled up from deep in his throat. Michael reached out and scratched the dog's ears, and the growl faded away.

"When?" Eric challenged.

Michael shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "Tonight?"

Ryan and Eric exchanged a glance, each of them waiting for the other to call Michael's bluff. "Okay," Eric said at last. "But I bet you don't show up. I bet you chicken out, and then claim your mother stayed up late and you couldn't sneak out."

"Mom goes to bed early," Michael argued. "And even if she doesn't, I'll still get out."

"But what if she sees us?" Ryan asked.

"She can't," Michael replied. "Her bedroom's on the other side of the house. She can see Eric's house, but she can't see old man Findley's at all."

"What if she sees Eric?"

But Eric shook his head. "She won't. There isn't any moon tonight."

Ryan, though, was still uncertain, and his brows knit into a worried frown. "If my dad catches me, he'll beat the shit out of me."

Eric shrugged. "Then stay at my house tonight. My room's downstairs, and I can sneak out any time I want to. I never get caught."

A little later the three of them started home, but as they ambled through the woods and across the fields, none of them said much. Each boy was thinking of the night's adventure, Eric and Ryan with anticipation, but Michael with a strong sense of unease. Maybe, he decided as he and Shadow turned up the driveway to his house, it would have been better to have let Eric and Ryan think he was chicken. But it was too late now.

Shadow barked happily and dashed ahead. Michael looked up and saw his grandmother seated in her wheelchair just in front of the porch. As he watched, the big dog bounded up to her and reared up to put his paws on the old woman's lap, his tongue licking at her face.

"Get down," Michael yelled, breaking into a run. "Shadow, get down!"

"It's all right," Anna assured him. "He's a good dog, aren't you, Shadow?" She patted him on the head, then began to ease his weight off her lap. The dog quickly settled down at her feet, though he kept his head high enough so she could scratch his ears. Anna smiled at Michael "I thought it was time you and I had a good talk."

Michael glanced around uncertainly. "Where's Mom?" he asked. "And Grandpa?"

"Your grandfather's at home, and your mother and Aunt Laura had some errands to run. But I wanted to talk to you, so here I am."

"T-talk to me?" Michael asked. "About what?"

"All kinds of things," Anna replied. "For one thing, why don't we talk about why your grandfather killed your father?"

Michael stared at his grandmother. Her eyes were on him, and though he expected them to be angry, instead he saw only a soft warmth. And she was smiling.

"D-did Mom tell you that?"

Anna hesitated, then nodded. "She told me that's what you think. She told me you saw him do it."

Michael swallowed, then nodded. "Mom says it was only a dream, though."

"I know," Anna said. "And I didn't argue with her. But what if it wasn't a dream? What if you really did see it?"

"You mean you believe me?"

"I don't believe you're a liar, Michael. As far as I know, you've only lied once, and I believe you had your reasons for that lie." She paused a moment, then went on. "It was the night Aunt Laura's baby was born," she said. "You saw them bury her baby out in the field, didn't you? Out in Potter's Field?"

Michael froze, a wave of fear washing over him.

"Is that what happened, Michael?" Anna pressed.

"I-I'm not supposed to tell. I'm not supposed to tell anybody. H-he told me-" Michael broke off, already surg he'd said too much.

"But you didn't tell me," Anna reassured him. "I told you, didn't I? I told you what happened."

Uncertainly, Michael nodded.

"And what about that day in the barn, Michael, when your grandfather stabbed your foot? Are you allowed to tell me about that?"

"Mom said that was an accident-" Michael began, but Anna held up a quieting hand.

"I'm sure your mother thinks it was an accident. But I want you to tell me what really happened. Can you do that?"

Slowly, Michael told his grandmother what had happened in the loft. When he was done, Anna sat silently for a long time. Then she reached out and took Michael's hand. "Michael, do you know what it was your father thought your grandfather had done? What Nathaniel had shown him?"

"N-no."

"Well, don't you think we ought to find out?"

Michael frowned. "But Mom says I only imagined it all. Mom says I only dreamed the things I saw."

"But what if you didn't, Michael? What if you really saw it all?"

"You mean you believe me? You don't think I'm crazy?"

Anna put her arms around the boy and drew him close. "Of course you're not crazy," she told him. "And you mustn't be afraid of what you know. It's what you don't know that's frightening, Michael. That's the way it always is," she said, almost to herself. "The things that you don't know about are the most frightening." She let her arms fall away from the boy, and straightened herself in her chair. "Now, let's you and I go and find out just what's in Potter's Field, all right?"

Michael's eyes widened apprehensively. "But Mr. Findley-"

"Ben Findley won't stop us," Anna replied. "I've known Ben Findley most of my life, and he won't do anything. Not to me. Not when he knows I'm sitting right there, watching him. Now, help me with this chair."

With Michael behind her and Shadow at her side, Anna Hall moved across the yard. Then she started out through the pasture toward the barbed wire fence that surrounded Potter's Field, her chair fighting her every inch of the way.

"Leave me here," Anna said. She gazed at Ben Findley's ramshackle house, partly hidden from her view by his barn. A few feet away lay the barbed wire, and beyond it the tangle of brush and weeds that choked the abandoned field. "You and Shadow go out into the field, and see what you can find." When there was no reply, she twisted around in her chair.

Michael's expressionless eyes seemed fixed on a point in the distance. Anna followed his gaze, but all she saw was the barn. "Michael? Michael, is something wrong?"

Michael came out of his daze, and his eyes shifted to his grandmother. "But what if old man Findley-"

"He won't come out," Anna told him. "He might try to scare children, but he won't try to scare me. Now, go on."

As Anna watched, Michael made his way carefully through the fence, the big dog following close behind him. Once, Michael glanced up toward the barn, but then he concentrated on the ground in the field. He moved slowly, knowing he was looking for something, but unsure what it might be.

For ten minutes, the boy and the dog ranged back and forth across the field, finding nothing. Then, suddenly, Shadow stiffened-and went on point.

And at the same time, a headache began to form in Michael's temples.

There was a stone on the ground, a stone that didn't quite seem to belong in the field. Though it was weathered, it seemed to have been purposely shaped, flattened and rounded as if it was meant to mark something. As Michael stared at the stone, Shadow moved slowly forward, his nose twitching, soft eager sounds emerging from his throat.

"Here." Though it was only one word, the voice inside his head was unmistakable. The word resounded in his head, echoing, then gradually faded away. As it died, the headache cleared.

Michael knelt on the ground and carefully moved the stone aside. He began digging in the soft moist earth beneath the stone.

Six inches down, his fingers touched something, and after a little more digging, he was able to unearth the object.

It was a piece of bone, thin and dish shaped, and even though Michael had never before seen such a thing, he knew at once what it was. A fragment of a skull.

In twenty minutes, Michael and Shadow found five more of the flat, round stones, and beneath each of the stones, there were pieces of bone.

At last, Michael returned to his grandmother and told her what he'd found.

"What are we going to do?" he asked as they began making their way back toward the house.

For a long time, Anna was silent, but when they were finally back on the front porch, she gazed into Michael's eyes. "Michael, do you know how you see the things you've seen?" Michael nodded. "Can you tell me?"

Michael gazed fearfully at his grandmother. "I-I'm not supposed to tell. If I tell, I'll die."

Anna reached out and touched Michael's cheek. "No," she said softly. "You won't die, Michael. Whatever happens, I won't let you die."

Michael paled slightly. "You're not going to tell Grandpa, are you?"

Anna drew the boy close. "I'm not going to tell anybody, and neither are you. Until we decide what to do, this is our secret. But you mustn't be frightened. Do you understand that?"

Michael nodded silently, then pushed his grandmother's chair through the front door. When his mother and his aunt arrived a few minutes later, neither he nor his grandmother said a word about what had transpired between them.

It was their secret, and, Michael decided, he liked having a secret with someone else. Since his father had died, there had been no one to share secrets with.

No one except Nathaniel.

Ben Findley let the curtain drop back over his window as the woman and the boy disappeared into the house next door. For a long time, he thought about what he ought to do, wondered if, indeed, he ought to do anything at all. In the end, though, he went to the telephone, picked it up, and dialed. When it was finally answered, he explained exactly what he'd seen. "I don't want them there," he finished. "I don't want your family snooping in my field."

"All right, Ben," Amos Hall replied. "I'll take care of it."