Still House Pond (22 page)

For now what she needed was privacy. Although she was about as alone as she had ever been, she felt as if the walls had eyes. She went back to the boxes and pulled the stack out from the wall at an angle, creating just enough room for a privy. That was pure relief.

Perusing the hanging closet, she looked for the lid to the thunder mug. There didn't seem to be one. Maybe that was why the pot was here instead of still in use. After moving the box again, she took down a round basket missing a handle. Upside down it made a fine cover for the pot. The floor seemed kind of springy when she walked on it, like the floorboards were too thin. It was a good thing she was not overweight else she would have to balance on the joists.

The dog walked to the door and looked back as if to say, “You're not the only one with a need, sister.”

“Silly,” Lilly said. “If I could open the door, you couldn't climb down the ladder.”

But maybe she could open the door. She hadn't even tried. She peeked through a crack where the frame didn't quite match up to the door. There was nothing out there but trees. Below, she could see where tall weeds had been mashed down. It seemed like this place was not often used. The door didn't have a knob but sported a carved handle. On either side of the door were metal pieces that were bolted into the doorframe. They looked like they would hold the piece of lumber that leaned against the wall. More than likely that was just like the one she had heard the man fix in place from the other side. Her heart sank, but she tried anyway, throwing all her weight against the heavy door until her shoulder was as sore as her knees. Like the narrow windows, the door was meant to keep things out—or in, as the case might be.

The dog pleaded with her eyes.

Lilly scavenged about. There was a stack of old newsprint tied up with string. She slid several sheets out and lined a spot for the dog.

The beagle just looked at her.

Lilly stood on the paper. “Come.”

The beagle stayed by the door. She rolled her eyes.

She made her voice sound stern. “Come!” she said and motioned to the paper.

The beagle ambled over and sniffed the fusty newsprint.

Lilly scooted the dog's tail directly over some fellow's faded picture. She stood right in front of the dog, not allowing her to step off the paper. “This is a perfectly fine lavatory. Haven't you ever heard beggars can't be choosers?”

Finally the dog got the picture in more ways than one. Looking as relieved as Lilly felt, the beagle went back to the puppy.

The puppy didn't seem as active as Lilly thought he should be. She sat beside it on the dirty floor and looked it over. Its belly looked much better, but its little eyes were just slits. She wondered if that was normal until she remembered Jumbo and how hard it was for him to see the light. Besides, maybe the puppy didn't want to know where it was any more than she did.

In a few minutes it would be full dark. It looked like they would be spending the night. Lilly wasn't hungry anymore. Mostly she was thirsty and scared.

“I'm sorry,” she said when the beagle licked her hand. The dog's tongue was as dry as hers. “We'll do the best we can tonight. Daddy John will find us soon. You can bet on that.”

Why, Daddy might even come tonight. As soon as he got in from work, Manda would tell him Lilly had missed her ride. She was sure he would remember how much she liked to walk by the creek. That would be the first place he'd look.

When Daddy found the valise and picnic hamper on the rock wall, it would be just like Hansel and Gretel leaving the trail of crumbs on their way to the witch's house. He would think she was a very clever girl, although she'd have to admit she hadn't meant to leave such great clues.

He might get Mama before he came. Mama would have to wait until Mrs. Morton's baby was delivered before she left. That was probably why they hadn't come for her yet.

Her bottom was numb from sitting on the floor. She might as well make herself and the dogs comfortable while they waited. It might be morning 'cause Mama said babies often picked the middle of the night to make their way into the world. Lilly wasn't worried even though she was probably in major trouble for leaving the porch in the first place. Oh, well, it couldn't be worse than the trouble she was already in.

Looking up, she saw that the legs of the moth-eaten suits of clothes hung down far enough for her to reach. She jerked them down and made a thick pallet against the curving wall farthest from the door. She sat down Indian-style with her back against the tin. The mother dog lay at her feet. The puppy nuzzled and nursed.

Lilly determined to keep her eyes open all night. “I'll teach you a bedtime prayer, puppy,” she said as tears dripped from her chin. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.” She said all her God blesses, not skipping or hurrying like she sometimes did. She blessed everyone she could think of, including the mailman and her favorite clerk at the dry goods store, the one who always saved her a peppermint stick. She prayed for Kate and asked God to spare her from the tooth-jumper. She prayed for all the animals and even the snake that lived in the rotten log by the creek.

Her voice grew as raspy as the locusts that had finally stilled for the night, but she kept on. It seemed to comfort the dog. Her eyes grew heavy like they were full of sand, and despite herself she fell asleep, still sitting.

She didn't know how long she had slept when she heard the rusty door hinges protesting. It was dark, but a golden moon backlit the man who blocked the doorway with his head and chest. He set something on the floor. She didn't dare to breathe. It seemed each noise he made was magnified by the darkness. She heard each one distinctly. The door closed. The bar dropped. The ladder thumped. The man swore. His heavy footsteps receded.

Lilly hugged her knees, then winced and let go. Maybe it would be best to wait until morning to see what he had brought. What if it was the dead puppies? She had dreamed of dogs frolicking in fields of wildflowers. Probably that was puppy heaven. Lilly was sure God saved animals too—she thought they were the least of these the Scripture mentioned. It lightened her mood to think so.

She tried to say the verse aloud, but her lips were too dry to form words. Maybe thinking the words was just as good.
“Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

Where was that Scripture in the Bible? It bothered her that she couldn't place it. She should have paid more attention to her Sunday school teacher like Mama had told her a thousand times.

Her brain was foggy and she felt feverish. The words
verily
and
inasmuch
echoed from the round tin walls as if someone were chanting them.

Verily. Inasmuch. Verily. Inasmuch,
she heard and decided the words were beautiful.

When she married, if she had twins like Mama did, she would name them Verily and Inasmuch.

The dog uncurled herself from around Lilly's feet and stretched. She went to the door and woofed. Lilly could have cried. She didn't have the energy to drag the animal to the paper again. The dog came back to her and nudged her arm.

Her legs felt like a swarm of sweat bees stinging when she tried to stand. It was dumb to sleep Indian-style. She lifted one foot and shook off the pins and needles, then did the other. She went to the paper. The dog went to the door. She pointed as if it could see her in the dark. The dog woofed and won. She'd have to carry or drag her to the piddling spot.

In the faint beam of moonlight filtering in around the doorframe, she could see the dog's nose pressed up against a half-gallon jar. Water, it was precious water. She lifted the jar, unscrewed the zinc lid, and drank until she was nearly sick.

Squatting, she dribbled water into her cupped hand until the beagle had her fill. She wondered about the puppy—should she give him some? Deciding the mother dog had more sense than she did, she put the lid back on. The dog stood back and woofed again. At the beagle's feet Lilly discovered a small package wrapped in paper.

“Potatoes and corn bread,” she said when she undid it. It was cold and smelled greasy. She wasn't hungry anymore. “Let's save it for breakfast.”

The dog begged. Lilly gave her some food, then wrapped the rest back up.

Having slaked their thirst, they joined the puppy on the pallet. Lilly lay down, but a button poked her in the back. She refolded the jacket so the buttons were inside.

Lilly felt much better. The man wouldn't be giving her nourishment if he meant to kill her. He was trying to teach her a lesson. Well, he would find out she was a fast learner. Given a little time, she'd get herself and the dogs out of his hidey-hole. In the morning she would make a plan. Just as the beagle had shown her on the bank of the pond, there was always hope.

23

Copper stopped at Cara's on her way home from the Mortons'. “I've come to collect the girls,” she said as she dismounted and wrapped Chessie's reins over the hitching post. “Did they wear you out?”

Cara was sitting on her porch with her whittling knife. She made intricate handles for ladies' fans. Darcy would sell them in her dress shop. A small pile of shavings lay at her feet. The girls were playing with Merky's dolls. They had made three little pallets in the shade of the purple morning glory twining up the trellis at the far end of Cara's porch.

Mazy put one finger to her lips. “Shh, Mama, babies sleeping.”

Copper shared a smile with Cara. Was there anything cuter than little girls playing house? While their babies slept, Merky poured air tea from a doll-size china teapot into three teensy cups. Mazy and Molly copied her every move.

“Looks like Merky has the twins in line,” Copper said.

“We've had the best time.” Cara shaved a strip of wood from her project. It curled from her knife like an apple peel. “How did Mrs. Morton's delivery go?”

Copper laughed and shared Ruby Tierney's story—all but the confidential parts.

“My, my,” Cara said. “A turn-of-life baby. Maybe there's hope for me yet.”

Copper pulled up a chair and sat beside Cara. She felt her friend's sorrow at not being able to have a baby of her own. “I'm sorry. I hope I didn't make you sad.”

“No, of course not,” Cara said. “If I had birth children, I might not have Merky. I couldn't even imagine not having that little ray of sunshine in my life.”

“I sure thank you for keeping Mazy and Molly last night.”

“They're well-behaved children.” Cara set her carving basket aside. “They've wagged those dolls around ever since they got here. I was wondering—would you like me to make them some?”

“Oh, would you? They would love that.” Copper watched the girls a minute, soaking them in. “Did you hear about Manda?”

“Mr. John told me when he came by last evening. What do you make of it?”

“I don't know. It's not like Manda to up and run off. I wish she had waited to talk to me.”

“I guess it puts you in a bind,” Cara said.

“We'll be fine. I'm more concerned about her. Remy thinks she's been acting odd for a while, but I don't know. . . . She's just young.”

“Whatever happened with her and Gurney Jasper? I thought he was sweet on her.”

“I think he was sweet on her, but I don't know that the feeling was reciprocal.” Copper smiled. “You've got to have that spark, you know, that certain something that draws a man and a woman together, not to mention keeps them together.”

“Maybe Manda will find her spark in Eddyville,” Cara said. “Evidently she's gone off to Darcy's.”

“That's what the note said. I guess she took off right after seeing Lilly on the coach.” Copper shook her head. “I've been praying for Manda's safety. Guess I'll add her happiness. She's such a good girl and a hard worker. She deserves the best.”

Copper stood and massaged the crick in her lower back with both hands. It had been a long night, but the neighbor lady had shown up right after daybreak. Copper had finished up what she needed to do for Ruby and saddled Chessie. She and the girls should be home before ten.

* * *

Copper and Remy were just preparing the noon meal when they heard a horse approaching out in the barnyard.

“Hope that don't mean another baby's a-coming,” Remy said.

“It shouldn't be,” Copper said, untying her apron and hanging it on a peg. “I don't have anyone due.”

She looked out the screen door. John walked out to meet the rider, whose horse was lathered up. “It's Big Boy Randall. It's not like him to let his horse overheat like that. Something must be wrong with Mary or the baby.”

Remy came up beside her, and they watched Big Boy dismount and approach John. He said something. John staggered backward a few steps. Big Boy put out his arm and grabbed John's shoulder as if to steady him. He handed John a piece of paper.

John glanced at the porch.

Copper opened the door.

“Wait,” Remy said.

But when John sank to his knees, Copper flew across the yard. Big Boy's face was a mask of pain and John's was white as skim milk.

“What's wrong, Big Boy?” she asked. “Has something happened to your wife or daughter?”

Still on his knees, John handed her a telegram.

She swallowed hard. The telegram was from Alice Upchurch to John Pelfrey. It read:

Terrible train wreck. Stop.

No news of Lilly Gray. Stop.

Will meet you at Four Corners. Stop.

“Four Corners?” she said stupidly, as if that mattered.

“I'm sure sorry to bring you this news,” Big Boy said, whisking his hat off his head.

“How . . . ?”

“I was over to the telegraph office sending a message to my sister Aloda in Lexington when this came over the wire. I told the operator I'd bring it your way. I'm awful sorry.”