No Story to Tell (37 page)

Diana had fallen back from the group, the weight of the baby and roughness of the field providing a more daunting task than she had anticipated. Slowly gaining on her, Victoria assessed her from behind and noted with satisfaction that the production of eight children had not come without sacrifices. The satisfaction, however, was hasty and ill-formed, evaporating rapidly as two curly-topped cherubs raced back from the others to place bouquets of wildflowers into their mother’s already overburdened hands. Emotion choked Victoria. She so missed being surrounded by her dance students that it felt like the blood had crusted in her veins.

Diana stopped to reorganize and regroup her armload of baby and blanket and bottles and bouquets. Victoria noticed that even now, wearing girlish florals and lace over two decades of good cooking and her mother’s genes, Diana still managed to look sprightly rather than matronly. Victoria felt at once both annoyed and ashamed for feeling so.

“Hi Vic,” Diana smiled, her face a portrait of snugness.

“Hi.”

“How’s it going?”

“Okay. You?”

“Oh, good. Busy,” she gestured unnecessarily toward the baby.

“Yes, I’d imagine.”

“Vic, I . . .” Diana began nervously. “I’m really sorry how things went. With the studio, you know?”

Avoiding eyes, Victoria nodded.

“I’m sure there wasn’t anything to it. He was probably just being silly. Too much to drink and all. You know how people in this town are, though. I didn’t want to pull the girls out, but Tom said I had to. I’m really sorry, Vic.”

The baby began to whimper, and Victoria was relieved as Diana immediately responded to that central force of all mothers holding their newborn and abruptly shifted the conversation onto the child.

“I didn’t realize Gavin was going so far across the field. At the last witching he found water just back of the house. If I knew I’d have to pack her all the way out here, I’d have at least brought her stroller, although that probably wouldn’t have worked either, the field being so rough and all. Can’t believe how heavy she’s getting already. She’s really big for her age. Last time the health nurse checked she couldn’t believe how big she was already. Last month she was above average on the chart and this month she was right off of it. Gonna be a big girl just like her brothers and sisters I guess.”

Diana smiled keenly at Victoria as if waiting for applause or at least a pat on the back for a job well done.

Victoria smiled back, made the appropriate noises and wondered to herself how accurate these mysterious charts could be. She’d heard the same boasts of superior growth in relation to each of Diana’s children over the years, and all had grown up to be strong and healthy but certainly not outside the parameters of normal.

“Did you see what Mrs. Spiller did to Rose?”

Victoria nodded.

“It’s so sad, really. But Rose is right. Someone needs to do something about it. She’s completely off her rocker. Thinks Rose is some gypsy who stole some treasure or something. Must be awfully hard for Doris. But still . . . really, they need to do something about her.”

Victoria nodded again. There was no use talking about it. Things had come up before. Nothing had been done then, and she knew nothing would be done now.

“Hey, my teacher, my teacher!” Lily squealed as she ran up and coiled herself around Victoria’s leg. “I mith you teacher. When are you not going to be too bithy to teach me again?”

“Oh, I . . .” Victoria stammered.

“Mrs. Lackey will be busy for a while yet, Lily. Go play with your sisters,” Diana swept her off easily.

“Look at me, teacher. I’m flying,” called out Lily as she whirled off in figure-eight circles, arms outstretched, her eyes closed tight.

“I can see that, Lily. Good for you,” Victoria called back, struggling against the tide of emotion surging within her. But even as she spoke she saw an older boy descending on the small frame, his loutish hand reaching out and pulling a brown piggy-tail.

“Rufus! I’m telling,” Lily wailed.

Victoria stepped forward, then caught herself. She wanted to grab the boy by the arm and squeeze until it hurt. Until it more than hurt. She looked at Diana.

“Oh, boys. Always teasing,” Diana excused. “Would you like to hold her?” She passed over the blanketed bundle as if an affirmative reply were the only one possible.

Victoria tightened noticeably. “Oh, I don’t know Diana. I’m not very good with babies.”

“Nonsense.” Diana waved off her objection as if Victoria was simply being modest. “Here. Is that for me?”

She gestured to the gift Victoria still held in her hand, and Victoria passed it to her, somehow receiving the baby in return. It felt surprisingly heavy and solid folded into her arms, and she tried to soften her grip to appear more comfortable. But despite her efforts, she continued to cradle it tightly.

“Oh! Oh, Vic! Thank you, it’s so sweet. And she looks beautiful in yellow.” Diana caressed the little sweater lovingly, as if it were the most splendid gift she’d ever received, and even though Victoria had knitted identical ones for each child.

“I hope it’ll still fit her. Do you think it will?” Victoria asked, suddenly seized by a desperate desire that it
must
fit. She fought against an impulse to wake the child right there and fill the empty yellow sweater with the soft plumpness of new life.

“Oh yes, it’ll still fit. Definitely,” Diana responded decisively, knowingly, as someone intimately aware of each square inch of her child’s flesh. “Here, want me to take her?”

Victoria looked at Diana’s face with some alarm. Had she done something wrong? Held the child too tightly? Had her face let slip the secrets of her mind? She responded carefully, hesitatingly.

“Do you mind if I hold her a little longer?”

“No, of course not. Hold her all day if you want,” Diana laughed. She knelt down, attempting a reorganization of her diaper bag to include one more item, happily chattering about one or the other, then eventually all of her children.

Victoria focused her attention on the baby, cradled it to her closer and felt the warmth of its sleeping body against her chest. Slowly she edged the blankets back to reveal the soft round forehead, the little flip nose and the gentle curve of black lashes protecting innocent eyes. She peeled the blanket back further to reveal a tiny white hand and traced it lightly with her own, marveling at the buttery softness of the fingers as Diana continued on below her, her voice a stream of words lost to the wind. Feeling inside the blankets, Victoria cupped each pudgy foot in the palm of her hand, watching the faint rise and fall of the blanket as a tiny heart beat next to her own. Emotion filled her thickly, and she wrapped herself even closer around the child, felt her breasts grow full and heavy as she began to sway with the innate rhythm of motherhood. She lightly touched the angel-kissed mouth with the tip of her pinkie and felt sure that all of life would stand corrected if she could just forever stay there and hold that child.

But life does not stand corrected. It simply makes its mistakes and moves on, and the moment was fractured by a frilly, high-pitched giggle. Their attentions were instantly diverted to a couple crossing toward them, completely oblivious to all but their own immediate world. Mark, dressed in his standard jeans and muscle-emphasizing T-shirt, led the conversation, which was occasionally punctuated by the girl’s giggles. He held one arm protectively around her as she shivered and shimmered beside him. Dressed for weather ten degrees warmer, she wore a dress made for someone two sizes smaller, revealing a bodacious cleavage that explained a great many things.

They sidled up together, Mark tossing out a hello while his girlfriend could only respond with a muffled giggle to their greetings as she buried her face into his bicep. Victoria judged her with an immediate and irrevocable dislike. Frivolous and stupid creature; even her blond curls seemed to giggle down her bare back. One look at Diana confirmed the verdict was unanimous. Victoria studied Mark as he whispered something into the girl’s ear, wondered, as she occasionally found herself doing, if it were at all possible that Bobby’s suspicions about being his father might indeed have had some chance at truth. Again assessing his dark curls and green eyes, she had to concede they were features that easily could be attributed to Bobby. But then again, they could easily be attributed to Diana as well, her and Bobby sharing enough similarities to pass as siblings, possibly even twins.

“I thought you were supposed to be working today,” Diana demanded in a voice Victoria could not readily connect to her, that seemed to come through somebody else.

“Nope. Called in sick.”

“Sick?”

“Yup.”

“Don’t exactly seem sick.”

“Am. Sick of work.” He grinned down at the girl, who failed to suppress a giggle then honored his wit with a quick kiss.

“Mark, I’ve told you a hundred times—”

“Hey! Save the lecture, maw. Ain’t got time today. Came out to see the town crazy con the village idiots . . . no offense, Mrs. Lackey. Hey, you ever get your hens laying?”

She avoided his eyes, nodded her head.

“New rooster?”

She nodded again, kept her eyes fixed on the sleeping baby as she felt his on her face.

“Yes! I knew it!” He punched the air with his free arm. “Damn, I’m good, hey?” he crowed, and was confirmed by a coy tiddle and a press of flesh against his side.

“Mark, ssht! You’ll wake the baby. Here, see what Mrs. Lackey made for her. Isn’t it adorable?” Diana asked as she unearthed the sweater from the diaper bag, spilling the rest of its contents onto the ground.

“Yeah. Nice,” he replied as he ran his hand down the girl’s chirpy behind until she blushed and slapped it away.

“You had one just like this,” Diana continued after cooling the girl with a disapproving glare. “Except blue. And Jamie’s was green, and Lily’s and Amy’s were pink and peach. She’s made one for each of you kids. Isn’t that special?” She asked the question in that simple, plaintive tone one reserves for talking to the very young, the very old, or the very stupid.

“Made one for me?” He raised his eyebrows with genuine surprise, paused to consider then laughed out loud, startling the baby awake. “Damn, that’s twisted!”

Victoria instantly began to bounce and rock as if by bouncing and rocking she could juggle the child back into sleep. She twinged self-consciously as Mark’s words hung over them, and she hoped Diana was too preoccupied by the commotion of the baby to question their meaning.

Diana had already moved forward to take the child and restore order to the situation but in the same moment the child’s fist found Victoria’s finger and pulled it eagerly to its mouth, slobbering profusely on her knuckle. Victoria relaxed for a second; the child’s agitation seemed to disappear as it attempted to latch on, then returned with a vengeance when no milk was forthcoming. Quickly she yanked her hand from its mouth, and the tiny face that was but a second before the epitome of angelhood, now contorted, and reddened and began to shriek in protest.

Not knowing what else to do, Victoria looked up at Diana, the panic that filled her body spreading rapidly across her face. Diana smiled calmly and looked at Mark.

“Mark, could you help Mrs. Lackey with the baby for a second? I just have to get this diaper bag back together.”

Mark shrugged and unhitched his arm from around his girlfriend, who instantly sprouted a pouty lip as he stepped closer to Victoria than was necessary. He ran his eyes purposefully across her own as he leaned over her, trying to distract the child. But as he cooed and kissed and whistled a hairsbreadth from her breast, the only one distracted was Victoria, and she wished the child would shut up before she became completely unglued. Realizing he was having no effect whatsoever on the child, he straightened up and amused himself in Victoria’s embarrassment as the little head, triggered by an ancient response, twisted toward her breasts, its hot, red mouth open in a frantic search for sustenance. Holding the fussing bundle awkwardly away from her, she looked helplessly at Mark who leered into her, grinned and tossed a suggestion to his mother.

“Looks like you gotta handle this one, Mom. She needs some tit—”

“Mark! I’ve asked you not to use that word.”

“Oh, come on maw. Tit, breast, boob . . . all the same to me. All the same to her too, long as they got lunch in 'em.”

“Well, just a sec’. I’m just about done. Could you take her for a minute, Mark?” Diana asked, looking up now and seeing the rising panic inflicting Victoria’s face. Mark’s hand slid between Victoria and the baby, lingered unnecessarily then lifted the child easily into the crook of his arm where, as if on cue, the screaming ceased and shifted to happy smiles instead.

A cheer broke out across the field. They turned to see hats being thrown into the air and backs being slapped as the crowd congratulated itself on a successful witching. Gavin Hackett was already strutting defensively back toward the trailer, the bark of the willow ripped and shredded as it had twisted violently toward the pull of water. Bobby, flanked by the boys, lumbered along at his side, arguing vehemently that something was unfair. As they drew closer, she caught enough to understand that although water had been found, and quickly, it was so far from the trailer that it would take them two years’ worth of saving just to run the pipes. Bobby demanded a refund. Gavin Hackett resolutely declared he’d said what he could find, not where and a refund would not be forthcoming. Perhaps Bobby should have read the fine print he suggested, which was as ludicrous as the rest of the act. There had been no written contract to begin with. Bobby looked around him and saw the sentiment of the group fell with Gavin, who had delivered a spirited if somewhat limited show. And, after all, water theoretically had been found. Feeling beaten, Bobby ordered Peter to give the cheat a ride home.