Blackberry Winter: A Novel (7 page)

“Of course, dear,” I said.

I had pulled out my knitting needles and settled into a chair in the corner as Daniel and his new friend set out to repair the mortar on the saloon’s fireplace.

I sat up suddenly, looking around Caroline’s apartment frantically.
Daniel.
The fog had lifted to reveal the terror I had felt earlier.
My son. Gone.

I stood up, setting the glass down with an unsteady hand. It fell to the floor and shattered, water splattering onto the shabby blue rug. “I have to find him!” I cried. “We have to do something. Somebody took him. Somebody took Daniel!”

Caroline rushed to my side. “Now, now,” she said. “You’ve been out in the snow all morning. Your feet must be frozen solid. You can’t go back out there. I won’t let you.”

I pushed her arms away and took a step toward the door, but my legs gave out under me. As Caroline lifted my head onto her lap, my heart beat so loudly, it was all I could hear.
How much time has passed?
Darkness lingered outside Caroline’s window. “He must be
hungry and cold,” I whimpered, trying unsuccessfully to stand again before giving in to Caroline’s pleas.

She helped me to the sofa and stroked my hair until my sobbing subsided. “We’ll find him,” she said quietly.

Little Eva, Daniel’s best friend, sat next to her mother with a frightened look on her face. “Aunt Vera?” she whispered, peeking her head over my shoulder.

“Don’t bother Aunt Vera right now, dear,” Caroline said. “She needs to rest.”

“But Mama,” Eva replied, “I’m afraid. Did the bird lady take Daniel?”

I opened my eyes. “The bird lady? Eva, what do you mean?”

“The bad lady who kills birds,” she continued.

“Eva!” Caroline barked. “Hush. You run upstairs and find your doll.”

The child nodded obediently and left the room.

“Don’t listen to her,” Caroline said. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

I buried my face in my trembling hands. “But, I—” My voice cracked as I began to weep, this time without tears. I had none left. “Oh, Caroline,” I cried. “We have to find him. Please help me find him. Please God, please let him come home to me.”

“I will help, honey,” she said softly. “Just as soon as I take care of you.”

An hour later, Caroline went to the corner market for firewood, and I sat up and clutched my head. It pounded violently, but I stood up anyway. My knees wobbled and I quickly steadied myself on the arm of the sofa.
I have to get out of here. I have to find him. I must get back to the apartment.

“You stay here, dear,” I whispered to Eva. “Your mama will be back soon. Tell her I had to go find Daniel. Tell her I’m sorry. She’ll understand.”

Eva nodded as I walked out the door. I couldn’t waste another second. My feet throbbed beneath me. I clutched the railing, hobbling down each step, until I reached the street, where a chilling wind blew into my face so forcibly, it took my breath away. But I pressed on, limping along the sidewalk, willing the pain away. I had to stay strong. But my feet ached so terribly, and the snow beneath them felt like acid on a wound.
Keep walking. He might be waiting.
The scene ahead came in and out of focus. My strength was failing me, I knew.
Stay strong. Keep walking.
A figure approached. Large, shadowy, pounding one fist into his palm. I fixed my eyes on his face; it sent a shiver through my body.
Oh God, Mr. Garrison.

“Look who we have here,” he said, the corners of his mouth forming a sick smile. “Ran out before you paid your rent, did you?” He placed a bold hand on my forearm, yanking me toward him.

“Please!” I screamed. “My son has gone missing. I have to find him!”

“Too late,” he said without emotion. I could see the dried crust of frothy ale on his mustache. “No rent, no home.”

“But, I…” Before I could finish the sentence, I started to sway; then my vision went black.

I don’t know how much time passed, but when I opened my eyes I felt an icy wind at my neck. Blood trickled from my lip.

Mr. Garrison hovered over me, his hot, sour breath in my face. “You’re coming with me,” he said, lifting me in his arms.

“Stop!” Caroline screamed. “Let her go!”

An older man came running from across the street. “Is there a problem here?”

“This man,” Caroline cried, pointing at Mr. Garrison, “he’s done something to my friend.”

The older man puffed his chest. “Where is your sense of decency?” he shouted. Mr. Garrison released his hold on me and I slid back to the ground, into the wet snow. “Leave the poor woman alone!”

Mr. Garrison sneered at the man, then slunk back into the pub, muttering under his breath.

“Can I help you get her home, miss?” the man said to Caroline.

She lifted my arm over her shoulder and helped me to my feet. “No,” she said, “but thank you. I live just a few blocks away. I can manage.”

“I won’t stop looking for him,” I said in a weak voice.

“I know, dear,” she said. “But I won’t let you die trying. When we get back, I’ll get you settled; then I’ll go to the police.”

“You will?”

“Of course I will,” she said, squeezing my shoulder tighter. “We’ll file a report. They’ll start looking for him.” The certainty in her voice soothed me.

Back at her apartment, she tucked a blanket around me, then put on her sweater and went out to the street to flag down a police officer. Eva lay her head on my chest as I waited, listening to the old cuckoo clock tick on the wall above, aware of every second passing. I sat up when I heard footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment. The door opened and Caroline walked through the doorway with a police officer. He held a black baton and eyed the percolator on the stove, then looked at Caroline.

“I don’t suppose you have a cup of coffee for an officer who’s been in the cold all day, miss?”

She obliged, dashing to the kitchen to light the stove before
emptying the last dusting of grounds from the coffee can into the percolator.

“It’ll just take a minute, officer,” she said. “Vera’s over here. As I said downstairs, her son is missing.”

The officer looked disinterested. “Miss Ray?”

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you ever so much for—”

“I don’t have much time,” he barked. “Be brief.”

“Of course,” I said, adjusting the blanket over my legs. “This morning, when I came home from work, my son, Daniel, had vanished.”

The officer raised his eyelids and took a sip of coffee from the mug Caroline had just tucked into his hands. “So you’re saying he was home by himself? How old is the boy?”

“Three,” I said. The officer’s eyes bore into me.

“She works at the Olympic Hotel,” Caroline said, jumping in to fill the silence. “She works hard to support him. I watch him as often as I can, but last night I was working too, and he—”

“He had to stay home by himself,” I said. There was no way around the truth. “I took him to work last week and my supervisor said she’d can me if I brought him again. Officer, with so many people out of work these days, I can’t bear to lose—”

“I don’t need a lesson on employment conditions in this city, miss,” he said, eyeing me with suspicion. “Where’s the boy’s father?”

“Daniel doesn’t have a father,” I said. “At least not one who’s a part of his life.”

The officer smirked. “I see.”

I showed him Daniel’s little bear. “I found this in the snow. It belongs to my son.”

The man pulled out a notebook and scribbled a few words
onto the tablet, nodding to himself. “A runaway,” he finally said. “He’ll probably come home. They always do.”

My stomach churned. “No, no,” I said. “You have it all wrong. Daniel would never run away. He had to be taken. I’m sure of it.”

The officer continued to smirk. “Were there any signs of breaking and entering? Was a window broken? A door? Valuables stolen?”

I stared at him blankly. “No, not that I could tell.”

He set the empty coffee cup down, then closed his notebook with a hasty flick of his wrist. “Exactly as I suspected. The boy’ll be back.” He paused to let out a raspy chuckle. “When he’s hungry enough.”

The door closed with a thud, and I buried my face in my hands. “I have to go back to the apartment,” I sobbed. “I have to go back. In case he comes home.”

Caroline shook her head. “Not with that tyrant of a landlord lurking. You’re staying here. We can ask Mr. Ivanoff to escort us over there in the morning. For now, you need to rest.”

Eva reappeared at the foot of the stairs, where Caroline was standing. “Mama!” she cried. “Did Daniel remember to button his coat? He always forgets to, and I tell him—” Caroline rushed her hand to Eva’s mouth to silence her.

Outside, the snow swirled in the air, frigid and unrelenting, and I didn’t even know if my little boy had his coat on.

C
LAIRE

“I
love it!” Frank exclaimed after I’d told him about my angle for the feature. “Little boy lost in a snowstorm. That will tug at every reader’s heart. How much time do you need to write it?”

“At least a week,” I said. “I’d like to really dive into this one—see if I can find any relatives, friends to interview.”

Frank nodded. “I can give you the time. Keep me posted.”

Later that evening, I found Ethan in the kitchen, staring into the bare refrigerator.

“Hi,” I said, setting my keys on the table. The sound echoed into every crevice of the apartment, amplifying the pervasive silence, thick and uncomfortable.

“Hi,” he said, without turning around. “Crazy storm today, huh? Hey, didn’t we have a leftover burrito in here somewhere?”

“I threw it away,” I said.

Ethan turned around and frowned, as if throwing away takeout was a betrayal—no, a veritable act of war. “Why would you do that?” he asked, wounded.

“Because it was two weeks old and covered in green slime.”

“Oh,” he said, before heading to the couch. “Has it been that long?”

“Yep,” I said, realizing then that it might have also been two weeks since we’d had a real conversation.

“Your doctor’s office called.”

I tried to busy myself with the mail.

“You really should go in for that appointment, Claire.”

I felt anger well up inside, for the tone of his voice—distant, unfeeling—for the lunch with Cassandra today, but mostly for the pain of the past. “Don’t tell me what I need to do, Ethan,” I snapped.

He shrugged and reached for the remote control, muttering something under his breath.

I opened a box of raisin bran, poured some haphazardly into a bowl, and topped it with soy milk before retreating to the bedroom. I didn’t bother to wipe up the liquid splatter on the granite countertop.

How can he be so insensitive? So blasé?
He knew how I felt about going back to the clinic, seeing my doctor’s face,
reliving
it all.
Why did he bring it up? Does he
want
to hurt me?
I took a bite and let the crunch of the cereal drown out thoughts of Ethan, of the past. Instead, I thought about little Daniel Ray.
What became of him and his mother? Were they ever reunited? Did the snowstorm play a role in the tragedy?

On a Christmas trip to visit my grandparents in Maine as a child, it had snowed a foot. My little brother and I, two California kids, were wild-eyed by the sight, and we spent the week building snowmen, making snow angels, and catching snowflakes on our tongues. Pure joy. I longed to feel that way again, to mend the pain in my heart, the hole.
Did Daniel play in the snow the morning of his disappearance? Did he feel the same joy?

I sat on the bed and reached for the phone, wishing for the
confidence to make the call. At the hospital, my doctor had given me her personal cell phone number and encouraged me to contact her. I dialed the number, letting the phone ring for a frighteningly long second, then hung it up quickly.
No. Not yet.

Instead, I pulled back the quilt on the bed and hid under its warmth. An hour later, I heard Ethan come in. His keys jingled in his hand, and I turned to watch him pull a sweater from the closet, robotically, and walk out. The door to the apartment closed with an uncaring slam.