Bent Road (14 page)

He knows now that Sheriff Bigler didn’t haul Uncle Ray off to Clark City but that he is living in Damar for as long as William Ellis will keep him, hopefully until he’s dried out. When Daniel thought his uncle was locked up, he imagined Uncle Ray might escape like Jack Mayer and live off stolen leftovers. Before he knew Uncle Ray was living far away in Damar, Daniel would lie awake at night, listening for him. He would imagine opening his eyes and seeing Uncle Ray’s face pressed against his window, his breath fogging the glass so Daniel couldn’t quite see which way that bad eye was pointing. But Damar was a whole other town and Uncle Ray was with a whole other family. This is when Daniel began to imagine Jack Mayer’s face pressed against his window. His breath would be cold and wouldn’t fog the glass like Uncle Ray’s. Then Christmas got closer, and Mama said the best store for wool fabric was in Damar, and since she needed a new dress for the holidays and Damar was only a few miles away, the whole family should go. Now, standing in the middle of the gravel drive, the thud ringing in his ears, Daniel doesn’t know if he should be afraid of Uncle Ray, who isn’t living so far away, or Jack Mayer.

His heart has begun to beat so loudly that Daniel isn’t sure if he hears the next sound. If he had been sure, he wouldn’t have looked around the corner again. Instead, he would have waited and listened or maybe run for the house, but his beating heart is like cotton in his ears, so he braces himself again and leans forward. Even though the maple that grows along the side of the house is bare, all of its leaves raked up and burned in the trash barrel, the moonlight shining through the empty branches is not enough to light up anything that might be hiding. The light from the kitchen throws shadows on the nearest branches but doesn’t reach any farther. If the something is still there, hiding under the window, it isn’t moving now, and Daniel can’t tell it apart from the rest of the darkness. He takes a step forward, watching, listening, and the shadow shifts again.

Holding his breath, Daniel thinks he hears something. It sounds like metal clanking against metal, like a chain tangled up with itself. He crouches down, pressing both palms on the ground. The back door doesn’t seem so far away now. He could run to it, reach it in a dozen steps, but he can’t move. Yes, that is the sound of a tangled-up chain, broken handcuffs. He hears breathing—heavy, hot, long breaths—and footsteps crushing dry dead grass, footsteps kicking up gravel.

Hoping to see that Aunt Ruth and Mama are watching him through the screened door, he glances at the porch, but sees no one. Aunt Ruth’s stomach is beginning to swell but she covers it with aprons and Elaine’s skirts that she cinches up at the waist with safety pins. “You’re in charge,” Dad had said to Daniel before leaving. Mama had smiled and brushed the hair from his eyes. For a moment, Daniel imagines Julianne is sneaking around the side of the house. He could be the one to find her. He’d be a hero and kids would like him without even caring how good of a shot he is. Daniel drops his head again, knowing the breathing and chains and footsteps are closer even though his heartbeat has filled his ears. He decides it can’t be Julianne because she wouldn’t be wrapped in chains. He inhales, raises his eyes first and next his chin. Still crouched, his palms pressed to the ground, he cries out and falls backward.

“God damn,” he says. “Good God damn already.”

Standing at the corner of the house, her head inside the yellow cone of light, Olivia the cow looks down on Daniel. She seems to nod at him, and then she drops her snout to nuzzle the cold, hard ground. Her lead dangles from the red leather neck strap, the buckle and bolt-snap rattling like loose chain. Dad will be angry if he sees someone forgot to take it off.

“Good God damn.”

Over and over in her head and a few times aloud, Celia says, “It’s the wind. Nothing but the wind.” But she isn’t sure. In Detroit, she feared firebombs, tanks and the Negro boys who called Elaine, none of which banged up against the side of her house. Being so new to Kansas, she isn’t sure what she should be afraid of, but whatever it is, it is walking through her yard. Shivering because she is wearing only a thin cotton dress and no stockings on her feet, she leans forward. On the other side of the screened door, across the driveway, Daniel sidesteps around the house. If he goes much farther, she’ll lose him in the dark. Behind her, Ruth and Evie huddle together inside the back door that Celia made them lock. She cups her hands together and blows hot breath inside them to warm herself.

“Can you see him?” Evie calls from inside. Through the frosty pane of glass, her voice is muted. She has wrapped both arms around Ruth’s waist and must be standing on her tiptoes to see out the window.

Celia reaches to open the screened door, but Evie cries out and presses her face into Ruth’s side.

“Okay, okay,” Celia says, letting go of the cold handle and leaning forward until she feels the imprint of the mesh screen against her right cheek. “There he is. I see him.” Exhaling a deep breath and motioning for Ruth to open the back door, she says, “It’s Olivia. Olivia got out again.”

Ruth flips the deadbolt lock, and Evie skips across the cold wooden floor and lands at Celia’s side. Celia wraps one arm around her and opens the screened door so they can both see. A cold breeze slaps them in the face.

“See?” Celia says. “He’s walking her back. Looks like her lead is on. Did you put it on without remembering to take it off?”

Evie shakes her head. “I took it off. I’m sure I did,” she says through chattering teeth. “I walked her a little. But I took it off.”

Celia watches Daniel until he and Olivia have disappeared through the gate and into the barn. When she can no longer see them, she steps back and motions for Evie to join her on a nearby wooden bench. Ruth flips a switch that floods the porch with light, then steps inside for a moment and reappears with Celia’s lavender house shoes, one in each hand. She waves the slippers, which makes Evie giggle, tiptoes across the porch and slips the fuzzy shoes on Evie’s bare feet.

“We shouldn’t really walk Olivia,” Celia says, wrapping both arms around Evie. “Left to her own, she could get hung up on that lead.” Evie nods as Celia tightens the pink ribbon tied at the end of her single braid. “Be careful to always lock up the gate and take care to do as you’re told. You know Daddy would be upset about this.”

“Will we tell him?” Evie says, twisting and frowning.

“I don’t see the need. I’m sure Daniel will slip it off and lock things up good and tight.”

Evie smiles, nods, and lowering her head, she says, “I guess it wasn’t Julianne out there, huh?”

Celia lifts Evie’s chin with her index finger. “No, honey. It wasn’t Julianne. Did you really think it was?”

“Just hoped, is all.”

Celia glances at Ruth across the top of Evie’s head. “Yes, I guess we all did. How about we say an extra prayer tonight? Especially for Julianne.”

“Yes,” Evie says. “An extra prayer.”

“Good enough, then.” Celia winks at Ruth and together they help Evie untangle her slippers from the hem of her robe so she can stand.

Evie giggles over the size of Celia’s lavender slippers on her own small feet. “Thanks,” she says once she has straightened out her legs and planted both slippers on the ground.

Celia smiles, gives a few tugs on the belt around Evie’s terry-cloth robe and, hearing footsteps on the stairs and the squeal of the screened door opening, she turns her smile toward Daniel.

“Ruth.”

Ruth stands.

“Ray,” she says.

In the beginning, in the very beginning, Ray felt badly for hitting Ruth. Over many morning cups of coffee, Ruth told Celia about the twenty years she had spent with Ray. When he would wake the day after, sober, he wouldn’t remember the black eye he had given Ruth, the split lip, the bruised cheek. He would look at her, puzzled at first, and then apologize. “It’s hard,” he would say. “So damned hard.” Ruth said she understood. She understood well enough to dab powder on those early bruises, withdraw from cake sales with an upset stomach when her lips were split open and swollen, cancel lunches with her mother and father because of one of her headaches when Ray had blackened her eyes. As the years passed, Ray began to wake, sometimes before he was fully sober, and say, “This is your doing as much as mine.” Finally, just, “This is your doing.”

“Why are you here, Ray?” Celia says, stepping in front of Evie and gently pulling Ruth backward a few steps.

Ray glances outside at the sound of Daniel’s footsteps on the stairs, and then turns back, placing one hand on the doorframe, one foot on the threshold. “Thought it might be around dessert time. Thought about a piece of Ruth’s pie.”

“We’re not having pie tonight.” Celia takes another backward step toward the house, keeping Ruth and Evie behind her. Daniel walks halfway up the outside stairs but says nothing because Celia shakes her head—a tiny movement, but enough.

“A cup of coffee maybe,” Ray says, moving aside, and with the sweep of one hand, he motions for Daniel to pass by.

Slipping between Ray and the doorframe, Daniel stops next to Celia. He takes a half step forward, trembling.

“Too late for coffee,” Daniel says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What’s that you say?” Ray fills the doorway but doesn’t cross the threshold.

Under his brown hat, Ray’s hair is clean and the skin on his face is smooth. Standing beneath the light of the single bulb hanging in the center of the porch, his hat shading his face, he looks like a younger Ray, like the one Celia saw on her wedding day. Besides being clean-shaven, his face is swollen. She knows it’s the alcohol, years and years of it, that makes his cheeks and jowls puffy and the lid over his bad eye droop. He is hanging on, probably by nothing more than his fingertips. He is sober, barely.

“I didn’t hear your truck,” Ruth says.

“Truck’s dead. Walked up here thinking Arthur could give me a jump.” Ray takes off his hat, holds it at his side and tips a nod in Evie’s direction. “Thought about that pie, too.”

“Arthur’s not here.” Celia takes Daniel’s arm. “Try again tomorrow.”

“Dan can help, can’t he?” Ray glances at Daniel. “Arthur letting you drive a truck these days?”

The tips of Ray’s boots hang over the edge of the threshold, teetering there, not quite inside, not quite out.

“No, Ray.”

Everyone turns toward Ruth. She is almost lost, wedged between Celia, Evie and Daniel. Celia glances down at Ruth’s belly. She has wrapped both arms around her waist as if hugging herself for warmth.

“Daniel can’t help,” Ruth says. “You try tomorrow. When Arthur is here.”

“Sure is a cold one tonight,” Ray says, winking his droopy lid at Celia. His good eye travels from her face down to the white buttons on the front of her dress. It lingers there long enough to be too long, while his cloudy eye floats about. “I can wait maybe. Nothing wrong with waiting a spell. Arthur be home soon?”

Caught between two answers, Celia can’t reply. It’s something about the way he stares at her, taking his time, letting his eyes linger, maybe imagining something. Wondering if the others notice and feeling ashamed for it, she shuffles her bare feet and wraps her arms around her waist.

“Tomorrow,” Celia finally says. “You’ll see Arthur tomorrow and no sooner.”

 

D
aniel yanks off Dad’s jacket, slings it toward an empty hook where one arm catches, leaving the jacket to hang lopsided, and stomps into the kitchen. Evie follows, still clutching Mama, while Aunt Ruth flips the deadbolt and waits in the window until Uncle Ray’s footsteps go down the stairs. Then she hurries into the kitchen ahead of Daniel, Mama and Evie, and leaning over the sink, she stands on her tiptoes so she can see out the window.

“He’s leaving,” she says quietly, as if Uncle Ray might hear, and hoists herself onto the counter for a better view. “He’s at the end of the drive now.”

“Ruth,” Mama says, dropping Evie in her seat at the kitchen table. “Please get down before you hurt yourself.”

“He’s gone for sure,” Aunt Ruth says, holding her swollen belly as she slides off the counter. “I’m so sorry for the trouble. So sorry if he scared anyone.”

“I wish it had been Julianne,” Evie says, poking her cold potatoes with the tip of her butter knife. “I wish we would have found her.”

Mama tilts her head, sighs and brushes the hair from Evie’s forehead.

“I should have had my rifle,” Daniel says.

Mama’s head lifts straight up. “Daniel, no,” she says, reaching out to him.

He steps back and doesn’t take her hand.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.”

“A rifle would have stirred up a mess,” Aunt Ruth says, moving to stand next to Mama. “A real mess.”

“Would have made a mess of Uncle Ray.”

“Daniel,” Mama whispers. “That is never a good answer. Never. You did fine, just fine. Your father will be very proud of you.”

Daniel leans a bit so he can see between Mama and Aunt Ruth. “You left that strap on Olivia,” he says to Evie. “She’s a cow, not a dog.”

“Did not,” Evie says, stabbing a potato and waving it at Daniel. “Did not. Did not. Did not. You left the gate open.”

Daniel steps forward, wanting to grab Evie by the hair and fling her onto the porch, fling her all the way back to Detroit.

“It’s done now, kids,” Mama says, pressing a hand to Daniel’s chest. And then in a quieter voice, as if she’s afraid Uncle Ray might hear, she says, “Let’s please not argue.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Evie says.

Mama smiles, but it isn’t a real smile. It’s the smile she gives when Grandma Reesa walks through the back door without calling first.

“Have a seat, Daniel,” she says. “Our dinner has gone cold. I’ll warm it up.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

As he walks across the kitchen, the floorboards creak under Daniel’s feet. Near the back door, he sees the gun cabinet. It’s locked up tight. His rifle is resting just where it should be. Next time, he’ll be thinking. Next time, he won’t forget. Mama calls out again, offering to warm up a few extra rolls for him. He waves her off, doesn’t bother with an answer, and once inside his bedroom, he pulls the door closed behind him. Waiting for the click that will tell him it has latched, he walks to his bed, lies down, pulls his knees to his chest and closes his eyes. Next time, he’ll be ready.