Bent Road (23 page)

Jonathon nods and wipes his brow with the palm of his hand like Dad always does. In the passenger side of his truck, Elaine sits, her face hidden in her hands.

Daniel looks down at his gun and back at Dad.

“Wouldn’t want a shotgun for a job like this, son,” Dad says.

Jonathon lays his rifle in the back of his truck. “Shotgun’ll do the trick if something’s coming at you,” he says. “Good for protection and hunting. But if you have time to take aim, you want a rifle.”

“Should have told you to get your rifle,” Dad says. “Man’ll always do right with his own gun.”

Jonathon nods and Daniel wants to lunge at him and beat him in the face for always being Dad’s extra set of hands. Instead, he nods like he understands about shotguns and rifles.

“Hustle on in and get me some clean clothes,” Dad says, noticing the blood smeared across his shirt and arms.

Unable to say anything, Daniel nods again, lays down Grandpa’s shotgun and steps around it. At the top of the porch stairs, he turns. Dad has picked up the gun and he and Jonathon are looking at it, studying it. They stare at each other for a good long moment, like they are saying something without having to speak, and then propping the gun over one shoulder, Dad walks into the garage.

“Damn shame,” Jonathon says, walking toward Olivia.

Daniel says nothing while he waits for Dad to come back out of the garage. When he does, he is empty-handed.

“Dad,” Daniel says before opening the screened door. “Evie’s home, right? Evie’s already here.”

 

F
inding Mrs. Robison’s house was easy. From school, Evie had only to follow the church steeple, and even though it wasn’t a long walk, Evie’s toes are cold and the tops of her ears burn. She knocks again, this time with the palm of her hand because knocking with her knuckles makes them sting. Mama will be angry if she knows Evie left the house without gloves and a hat. She forgot them because she was so worried about the hem of Aunt Eve’s dress sticking out from under her winter coat where Mama might see it.

Standing at the front door, Evie pulls her coat closed so Mrs. Robison won’t see the torn part of the dress before Evie can explain. It’s Daddy’s fault it tore some more. He hit Uncle Ray, and Evie tripped over the dress and the collar ripped. Maybe that’s why Uncle Ray’s red truck is parked down at the church. Maybe he is talking to Father Flannery about how Daddy hit him and how Aunt Ruth has his baby inside of her. That’s Uncle Ray’s truck for sure. It’s parked in the same spot he and Aunt Ruth parked in every Sunday before Aunt Ruth came to live with Evie. As soon as Mrs. Robison answers the door, Evie will show her that Uncle Ray is at church because Daddy and he had a fight and made Evie tear her dress. Surely Mrs. Robison will fix it. She’ll have the needles and thread and she’ll sew it up tight, and maybe she’ll fix the trim, too. Mrs. Robison might even be able to make the dress a little smaller so it will fit Evie better next time.

Knocking on Mrs. Robison’s door again and hearing nothing, Evie walks to the picture window, cups her hands around her eyes, and tries to see inside, but the curtains are closed and the house is dark. She taps on the glass and presses her ear to it. Still nothing. Back at the door, she knocks again. The sun is starting to fall lower in the sky. The air is colder now than when Evie first left school, and soon, Mama will be thinking about supper. Mrs. Robison doesn’t live far from school but Evie does. Her house is a long way away. Her house is so far from school that Mr. Slear drives them in the bus every day.

Not knowing why, except that the cold air and the gray sky make her think that she might never find home again, Evie starts to cry. She tries to stop by holding her breath and knocking with her knuckles so the sting will make her forget about how far away her house is, but the harder she knocks, the harder she cries. Mrs. Robison isn’t home and she can’t fix Aunt Eve’s dress. Evie will have to go home with the torn collar and Mama will scold her for wearing Aunt Eve’s dress and for ruining it. Laying one hand flat on Mrs. Robison’s door, Evie drops her head, pulls her collar up and over her mouth and nose and walks away from the house.

At the end of the Robisons’ sidewalk, with her face buried in her coat, Evie turns toward St. Anthony’s. She knows to take Bent Road straight out of town. It will change from concrete to gravel, twist and bend, exactly like the name says, and after a good long way, it will break in two. One branch will lead to Grandma Reesa’s house and the other will switch its name to Back Route 1 and lead toward home.

Crossing the street to the church, Evie sees that Uncle Ray isn’t visiting Father Flannery. He is standing inside the white wooden fence that wraps around the graveyard, staring down on one of the graves. The new graves, like the one dug for Mrs. Minken who died because she was 102, are way in the back of the cemetery, so Uncle Ray must be visiting an older grave, one for someone who died a long time ago. Three large pine trees stand over the grave Uncle Ray is looking at as if they are guarding it. He stands with those trees, his arms crossed, his feet spread wide like he’s standing guard, too. In one hand, he holds his hat and his dark hair blows off his forehead. Evie calls out, good and loud so Uncle Ray will hear her over the wind.

“Hello,” she says, and then is sorry for it. People are supposed to whisper in cemeteries.

Uncle Ray turns toward Evie. He watches her for a good long time, then pulls on his hat and looks back down on the grave.

The wind is colder once Evie steps onto the sidewalk and walks toward home. She pulls her sleeves over her hands, dips her head and tries to take long steps that will get her home quicker. Beyond the shelter of the church, the wind kicks up and dies down again when she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. A light switches on. Mr. Brewster, carrying a plate, walks past the window. Mama says he’s a widower because his wife died and that he doesn’t get out much. Even Mr. Brewster, who is all by himself, is sitting down to supper. That’s what Mama and the others are doing by now. Mama likes an early supper because going to bed on a full stomach never does anyone any good. Evie closes her eyes as she passes Mr. Brewster’s house. He must be lonely in there all by himself and that makes Evie feel like she may never see home again.

At the last stop sign before the road changes to dirt, a car pulls up next to Evie. It rattles to a stop and exhaust swirls up, clouding the gray air around her. She unwraps her hands, lowers her collar and looks into the side of a big, red truck.

C
elia clears her throat, and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she pulls a fresh shirt from the top drawer and a clean pair of pants from the closet. Out in the kitchen, Ruth is busying herself by setting the table and skinning the chicken for dinner. She’s seen things like this before, probably much worse. If Arthur hadn’t been able to come home in the middle of the day when Celia called to tell him that Olivia was out again and was apparently stuck between the house and garage, even with one bad arm, Ruth probably would have coaxed the cow out herself. Right this moment, she is probably planning how to best slaughter Olivia and where they will freeze so much meat. No, that’s not true. Ruth wouldn’t think those things. Reesa would, but not Ruth. Ruth will be thinking how to help the children understand that this is part of life on the farm. She would never tell them that Olivia will soon be wrapped in white butcher paper and stacked in the freezer.

Folding the blue and gray plaid flannel shirt for no reason other than to stall, Celia wonders if Arthur knew things would be this way when they moved from Detroit. Did he know that sometimes the eggs wouldn’t be eggs when Celia cracked them into her skillet but that sometimes they would be the beginnings of a tiny, bloody chick? Did he know Daniel wouldn’t have many friends and that Evie still wouldn’t grow? Did he know Ray was beating Ruth all those years, beating the life out of her, and did he still stay away? Not wanting the answer to the last thought, Celia clears her throat again and walks from the bedroom with the clothes stacked neatly in both hands.

Standing at the kitchen table, one hand holding the back of a chair, Ruth doesn’t look the way Celia thought she would. Her face is pale, her neck flushed. For a moment, Celia is relieved because Ruth is as upset as she by what has happened to Olivia. For a moment, Celia doesn’t feel alone. Thank goodness for Ruth. Celia holds the clothes out to Daniel, who stands in the hallway leading to the back porch, but he doesn’t reach for them.

“For your dad,” Celia says, taking another step forward.

Daniel’s arms hang limp and he steps aside when Arthur walks up from behind. Celia takes two quick steps backward and pulls the clothes to her chest, hugging them.

“Arthur, take this outside,” she says, shoving his clothes at him. “You’re an awful mess.”

Reddish brown smudges that end with feathered edges travel from Arthur’s right hip up to his left shoulder, as if Olivia threw her head against him, and dried blood is caked on his hands and forearms.

“Your shoes,” Celia says. “Take those off. Outside.”

Muddy tracks have followed Arthur into the house, bloody mud. Celia looks at Daniel’s feet instead. He keeps telling her he needs new boots, that his toes are going to end up crooked if he doesn’t get some bigger shoes.

“Please, take those off outside.”

“Is Evie here with you?” Arthur says.

At this, Celia lifts her eyes.

“She’s not outside,” Jonathon says, walking up behind Arthur. Elaine stands next to him. She nods. “We checked the barn, the road. Elaine looked downstairs.”

“She came on the bus,” Celia says, looking Daniel in the eye. “With you. She came home on the bus. Like always.”

“The nurse said she was going to call,” Daniel says. “Because Evie wore the dress. I thought you came for her.”

Ruth steps forward and takes the stack of clothes from Celia.

“The dress?” Celia says. “What dress? No one called.”

“The school nurse.” Daniel clears his throat the same way Celia does when she’s trying not to cry. “She was going to call. She said maybe Evie should go home for the day.”

Daniel looks up at Arthur. There’s not so much difference anymore. They’re almost the same height.

“Evie wore one of those dresses to school. One of Aunt Eve’s dresses. From Grandma’s house. I thought you picked her up.” Daniel takes a deep breath. His chest lifts and lowers. “She didn’t come home on the bus, Mama.”

“Well, then she’s still at school,” Celia says, nodding. “Right. She’s still at school.”

“We’ll go, Mama,” Elaine says, pulling Jonathon toward the back door. “We’ll check the school.”

“I’ll give them a call,” Ruth says, setting the clothes on the table and taking care that they don’t spill over and come unfolded. “I’m sure she’s fine. Probably got caught up after class. Nothing to worry about.”

“I thought you came, Mama,” Daniel says. “I wouldn’t leave her. I wouldn’t.”

Staring again at Daniel’s boots, Celia thinks how much he’s grown in the short time they’ve been in Kansas. And other things have changed, as well. His brow is starting to push out, the bridge of his nose is taking the same curve as Arthur’s, his neck has thickened ever so slightly where it drapes into his shoulders. Celia cocks her head to the left and says, “Today at work, Arthur. Was Ray with you today at work?”

“Hasn’t been in all week. Not since we saw him at the café. Not since Tuesday.”

The truck smells like a coyote wagon. That’s what Mama would have said. Whenever Mama rode in Daddy’s truck, she said it was becoming nothing more than a coyote wagon. After that, Daddy would take a leftover grocery bag and clean out the wadded-up newspapers, the half-eaten apples, which were half-eaten because Daddy only likes the bites that have red skin with them, and the cigarette butts that make Mama especially mad because she hates that he sometimes smokes in Kansas. Uncle Ray is a smoker, too, but he doesn’t have anyone to tell him to clean out his butts so they spill over the small tray and some of them lie on the floor. Uncle Ray is an apple eater, too, but he eats his down to the core.

Wrinkling her nose and clearing her throat, Evie steps off the sidewalk and reaches for the inside door handle. It’s cold in her bare hand. An old red and blue flannel sheet is draped over the spot where Evie is supposed to sit, probably because Aunt Ruth used to sit there and without the thin cover, the seats would be cold and hard. The sheet is tucked in tight where the back and the bottom of the seat meet. Aunt Ruth did that. She is always tucking and straightening. This makes Evie feel better, makes her feel that it is okay to get into Uncle Ray’s truck. Bracing one hand against the doorframe and pulling on the inside handle with the other, Evie steps up into the truck, careful not to look at Uncle Ray’s face because she can’t help but stare straight into the bad eye and Mama says that’s not polite. So instead, she keeps her head lowered, drops down on the flannel cover and swings her legs into the truck. Propping both feet on the toolbox that sits on the floorboard, she pulls the truck door closed.