The Girl in the Red Coat

43

Gramps says: ‘Idaho is the last place in this land you can be free. No government interference here.’

Government interference doesn’t sound a good thing when he says it. That’s why we’ve come here. I know it’s also because he wants to get away from Pastor Munroe — that he was turning into Gramps’s boss too much. I know because Gramps told me, ‘He’ll have you for his own if we’re not careful.’

I asked him, ‘Why d’you say that when you’re my grandad?’ But Gramps just covered his eyes up with his hands like he was really worried it could happen.

We don’t need him anyway now because there’s plenty of money. The dollars spill out of the cut-out Bible. We can’t even close the cover. Dorothy tucks away the spare ones underneath her pillow, then pats the top of the pillow, like she’s putting babies to bed.

I look over the fields and all the plants there look like they’re waving to me and Melody sitting on the steps. What with the sunshine and everyone being in such a good mood I realise I’m happy. At first I don’t recognise the feeling, it’s been so long. I feel guilty again for a moment, about being happy when Mum’s dead, but I know she liked me being happy and when I think that I feel peaceful again.

Ahead I see the old farmer; we’re parked in his field. He’s walking over to Dorothy and there’s an orange pot under his arm with a lid.

‘Bite of supper for you and your family.’

He peeks over at me and I think he looks scared.

Dorothy asks, ‘How is she?’

Last night I laid hands on his wife. Her skin felt as dry as an old bit of paper. Their house smelt strange but when I said this to Silver after, she giggled and said, ‘Pig feed.’ I didn’t know what she meant till I saw the pig in the garden this morning.

‘She’s brighter today. Asked for breakfast. I swear, I haven’t seen her eat an egg for I don’t know how long.’

He looks over again and ducks his head down so he doesn’t have to see me. I feel creepy all of a sudden. The feeling doesn’t go until he’s gone back to his farmhouse.

‘Melody, if I tell you something will you swear to keep it secret?’

Her eyes have gone big but she nods.

‘When I’m grown up I’m not going to do this for Munroe and Gramps any more.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m going to do it somewhere proper — where there’s no praying and singing — somewhere like a hospital.’

‘Does Pa and Pastor Munroe know?’

‘No. You’re the only person. Promise not to tell?’

‘I won’t ever. But you have to be careful, I don’t think they’ll like that.’

Dorothy comes over with the orange pot under her arm.

‘Looks like you’re getting to be the star of the show.’

She says it like it’s not a nice thing. Like I’m showing off on purpose. When I don’t answer she heaves the pot further up in her arms.

‘Well, no time for chat. Let’s see what the old man’s gone and provided and whether we want to pass it through our lips.’

There are bright spots on her cheeks and she seems to be in a hurry for something, though we’re not going anywhere. In the morning I find out what.

*

I know, as soon as I wake up — Dorothy’s gone.

It’s too quiet. I’m remembering things happening in the night too. There was creeping about and whispered voices. I sit bolt upright in bed gasping, the truck feels so weird. The bunk beds are empty. Most of their things are missing.

‘Gramps?’ I call out. Maybe he’s gone too? Maybe I’m on my own.

I tiptoe over and stand outside his curtain, seeing if I can hear anything. I do — I can hear breathing.

‘Gramps,’ I call a bit louder. ‘Is it you?’

There’s no answer so I crawl under the curtain. Gramps is just one big lump in the bed — on his own.

‘Gramps, wake up. Something’s happened.’

He’s got a tracksuit on in bed and he looks different when he’s just waking up. His face is pinker and it’s funny seeing him not wearing glasses. I realise I’ve never seen him in bed before even though he’s so close behind the curtain.

‘What is it? What is it?’ He reaches up to the shelf and feels about for his specs.

‘Dorothy and the twins. I think they’ve gone.’ I feel like I’m going to cry.

He sits up and puts his glasses on. He looks more normal then.

‘Perhaps they’ve gone for a walk, or to get something.’ He gets out of bed, swinging his feet onto the floor so they’re resting on the bunch of roses on the rug. His toenails look a bit old and crusty. It feels funny being so close together with him — I can even smell his sleep. He comes out of the curtain just in his sleep tracksuit and he’s never done that before.

‘Look, lots of their things have gone.’ I’m opening their closet and there’s only a couple of their really old dresses. I start sniffling. Even if she was mean sometimes and I’d decided she’d never be like my mom, I didn’t want Dorothy to go — and specially not Melody. I don’t want to be on my own with Gramps.

His face goes tight and I see his forehead pressing out under his white hair that’s messy because he hasn’t combed it yet.

‘In the night like a thief …’ he says quietly.

‘Maybe she’ll come back?’ I say and I wipe my nose on my nightie sleeve.

He goes behind the curtain and comes back with the money Bible. When he opens it up it’s as empty as a coconut and he stands there staring at it for a while. We look round to see what else has gone and call out to each other.

‘The new saucepans.’

‘The good pillowcases and the backpacks.’

‘My watch,’ his forehead looks like it’s going to explode this time, ‘and my notebook.’

‘Why would she take that?’ I wanted to read that notebook again.

He goes behind the curtain and I hear ‘evidence’ — though I don’t know if I heard right. He gets dressed and I do the same on my side. Then he tells me to get in next to him, in the front of the truck where Dorothy normally sits, and we drive round for a long time looking for her. We go to a coach station and walk round and there’s people waiting with cases and backpacks and coaches coming in and out but no Dorothy. No girls.

‘Perhaps she’s gone back to Mexico, she liked it there being warm all the time,’ I say. We’re back in the truck now. It feels funny being in her place in the front. It feels like everything really has changed.

‘They must have been carrying a lot,’ I add. I can imagine them, walking down the dusty road with saucepans tied to their backpacks.

‘She’s probably got husbands, being fattened up in the sun, for the twins,’ Gramps says. His mouth has gone into a thin line. I can’t see his eyes, the white of the sky is on his glasses.

I gasp. ‘They’re only eleven. Eleven is too …’

‘They marry them off early there. Goddam Mexico. They’re heathens, barbarians.’ I’ve never heard him say ‘goddam’ before. I think of Dorothy’s skulls and wonder if that’s what he means. If he knew about them all along.

Gramps is still talking: ‘Heathens. Those girls will be married off by the time they’re twelve. That was her plan, that was the plan right from the start. Lying thief.’

I look out of the window. Poor Melody, poor Silver. Being married to a man when you’re only twelve. I think about them on their wedding day, in identical white dresses with great sticking-out skirts. They’d be marrying hairy grown-ups — maybe Dorothy would even find twin men for them to marry, so they’d match. They wouldn’t really love them even, they wouldn’t feel the way I do about Nico. They’d be shuddering inside those dresses.

And it’s silly but the very worst thing that I can’t stop thinking about is: Melody won’t be able to have her writing lessons now. She was starting to get good at it too. She liked it more than anything.

When we get back to the campsite and Gramps has gone to get water I look round at all the gaps they’ve left and remember those flittering butterflies in Dorothy’s eyes — the thoughts she kept from Gramps. I sit on my bed and it feels so quiet and lonely without them I don’t know if I can bear it. I get my pillow so I’ve got something to hold onto.

That’s when I see it. The book with Mercy in it that’s a passport. It was hidden under my pillow and I know, I know it must have been Melody who slid it under there before she left.

She wanted to leave me with someone. For me not to be all on my own without another child. I open it up and Mercy’s white little face looks back. I slip it inside my pocket and decide to keep it for ever. She can be my sister now, that’s what Melody meant.