Tomorrow River (11 page)

When I think about how my mama was the last one to touch this place, I go so weak that I almost stop, but I don’t. The light may be dim, but I can see right off that the stronghold is empty. Sam’s note is not here. And neither is Mama’s diary, which really hurts. I feel like I opened a gift that I’ve been waiting a year to receive and there’s nothing inside the box. Where is it? Could Papa have found it? The thought of him . . . no, I’m being silly. He’d have no reason to go looking for something that he didn’t even know existed. If he
had
found the diary by accident he would know that his wife had been visiting with Sam and how Woody and I helped them and . . . no, Papa doesn’t have it. There would have been punishments. My mother must’ve moved it. Hid it somewhere else and didn’t tell me. I bet she told Woody, who is such a Mama’s girl.

I get up off my knees, toe the rug straight. I’m feeling miserable. I bet Sam will, too, when I tell him that I looked in the last best place for his note and found nothing, not even dust. And poor Woody. How will she ever fall asleep without Mama’s scarf?

“What do you think you’re doing?” another voice accuses.

I almost shout out, “I’m just tryin’ to find my mother before my family falls apart worse than it already has. Can’t you just leave me be?”

But I’m not imagining the voice this time. I can smell horse sweat and Maker’s Mark.

I look up to see Papa scowling at me in the mirror above Mama’s dresser. He couldn’t get much realer.

C
hapter Ten

“I
s that you, Jane Woodrow?” Papa asks, striding through the doorway in his boots and breeches. For such a small man he takes such large steps.

I spin and most especially grin so he can see Woody’s and my only identifiable difference—my gaped teeth. He’s always had a hard time telling us apart. “Golly! You startled me, Your Honor,” I say, tempering it with a chuckle lest he accuse me again of impertinence. “How was your ride this mornin’ . . . I mean morn
ing
?” He is very particular about how we speak. No calling ourselves Woody and Shenny in front of him neither. Pet names are not allowed. “Was Pegasus—”

“What are you doing, Shenandoah?”

“I . . . I . . .” Can’t help myself. I don’t care how messy he looks or how mad he is. I would love for him to take me into his arms, press his stubbly cheek against mine, rub his high-bridged nose with my snubbed one. I want to take a comb to his hair, no matter how many teeth got broke. I venture closer and try to untie my tongue. “Did . . . did you notice those shooting stars last night and that Jupiter has been real close and . . . and don’t forget the men are going up to the moon next month and you promised last summer that we’d—”

“You’ve been warned about coming in here,” he says, striking his riding crop against his leg.

“I know, sir, and under any other circumstances I wouldn’t.” I wish I could tell him what I was really up to. How I was looking for the diary in the stronghold, hoping to find a clue to where his lovely wife has gone, but he’ll get sadder if he knows that Mama kept something hidden from him. You have never seen someone so enraptured like my papa was with my mama. When she left a room, his breath would go with her. He’ll thank me once she’s back in his arms. “I’m really, really sorry, but . . . Wood . . . Jane Woodrow, she’s having the hardest time sleeping. I thought that if I could find . . . she needs to—” I bet he doesn’t even remember shredding Mama’s scarf last night before he took us down to the root cellar.

“Was that you and your sister I saw at the creek?” he asks, coming closer and closer.

“No, Your Honor, no, it wasn’t.”

“How odd,” Papa says, acting comically confused. “I could’ve sworn I saw the two of you lying beneath the weeping willow tree when I came out of the barn.” His hands are clasping me right below the
Speranza
watch that Sam Moody gave Mama. How could I have been so careless? I got so worried about being late that I forgot to put it back under my pillow when Woody and I got home.

“Are you referring to the big willow tree?” I ask. “The one with the cracked stump? Is that the one you mean?” I pretend to consider that. “No, uh-uh, sir. That wasn’t us. But speaking of the creek, you remember Mr. Clive Minnow, don’t you? Our neighbor? Virgil from the grocery found him lying dead in the water and so now his old dog, Ivory, is all alone and . . . do you think I could go get him? You know how Woody loves dogs and—” I’ve gone and trapped myself. I can tell by how crafty Papa is smiling that he’s figured that out, too. Before he was a judge, he was a prosecuting attorney known for persecuting witnesses. I’ve seen lawyers for the defense go whiter when they found out the one they’d be going up against was the great Walter T. Carmody.

He says smoothly, “Perhaps you’d care to explain to me how you heard about Mr. Minnow’s unfortunate passing?”

“I—”

“Your shorts are damp. Did you and your sister take the stepping stones into town when I expressly forbade it? Is that how you heard about Mr. Minnow’s death?”

“No, sir. Woody and I did not go—”

He lets me loose and drags his dirt-packed fingernail along the bottom of my cut-offs. I swing my hands behind me, slip off Mama’s watch, and push it deep it into the back pocket of my shorts. “If you weren’t down by the creek then why are—” There’s a ruckus in the hallway. Papa cocks his head and calls, “Jane Woodrow?”

My stomach shrinks up the way it usually does when he calls out her name.
Please, Lord, do not let it be Woody come looking for me.

There’s more clattering. A few clanks. “Yoodihoo. It’s me, Your Honor,” Lou calls from the hall. My knees buckle in relief, knowing it’s not my twin. “Lunchtime. I got all your favorite—”

“Leave the tray,” Papa says. If I wasn’t looking straight at him, I’d swear I was hearing Grampa. Or Blackie, he’s got that sneering tone as well.

“Did Miss Shen tell ya about your neighbor?” Lou prattles on. “Yessir. Your brother came by earlier to . . . ah . . . let ya know that your horse needs new shoes soon. He told me and the girls
all
about Mr. Clive bein’ found dead. Ain’t that a cryin’ shame?”

As much as I wish it were, barging in like this is not an attempt on Lou’s part to rescue me. It’s just her roundabout way of reminding me to keep my mouth shut about her loving up my uncle and she’ll do the same about Woody and me escaping from Lilyfield this morning.

Papa’s voice bounces off the bedroom walls. “You’re dismissed.”

I’m hoping so bad that he means me that I try leaving. “Your sister?” he says, clamping down with his hands. His law school graduation ring is digging into the bone at the top of my right shoulder. “Where is she? And why are your shorts wet if you weren’t down at the creek?”

“She’s . . . I . . . we’ve been waterin’ the gardens so they look nice when Grampa comes,” I lie. “It must’ve been somebody else you saw under the willow or—”

“I was down to the creek this mornin’ pickin’ flowers for your mama’s room,” Lou hollers from the hall. She has not come into view, it’s just her voice. “Got a nice bunch of those lilies she likes so much right downstairs on the—”

“Louise.” Papa uses his quiet voice that is much more frightening than his loud one.

“Sir?”

“Get . . . back . . . into . . . the . . . kitchen.
Now
. There’s work to be done before my father arrives.”

I hear Lou scurry away, mumbling
yessir
s and
hoodoo
words to keep herself safe from the wrath of Papa, and I so badly want to run after her. He’s pressuring me much harder than I’m sure he’s meaning to. “You and your sister were up in the fort the night your mother disappeared. The moon was full. What did you see?”

I knew he’d ask me. It
always
comes down to this even though I’ve told him countless times what I saw that night.

Most of it anyway.

Colonel Button’s Thrills and Chills Show sets up their rides and games in Buffalo Park, which is on the other side of Honeysuckle Hill, a stone’s throw away from our place.

Woody and me were sleeping up in the fort that night because I just love the sound of folks having fun. All that hooting and hollering—it makes me feel like part of the greater good.

We’d had such a swell time at the carnival. We each got a teddy bear and rode the Tilt-a-Whirl and laughed to tears at how wavy we looked in the Maze of a Million Mirrors. Dreaming of all that fun is what must’ve been giving me such a nice slumber, but it wasn’t doing the same for my sister. She woke me up after midnight, babbling, “Mama . . . mama . . . gone.”

I tried ignoring her, and when she wouldn’t let me, I groused, “Did ya eat too many Red Hots? You’re having a bad dream. Lie back down and go to sleep.”

Woody plastered herself against me, which I usually love, but her hands were sticky with cotton candy. I rolled away, but she came after me. “Papa . . . Papa,” she moaned, and that’s when I heard him, too.

He was thrashing about in the woods, bellowing, “No . . . no. How could you?”

And then all went still, except for Woody’s whimpering and Mars, the dog, barking and the strong man bell ringing faintly from over at the carnival. I thought Papa had passed out, but when I pressed my eye to the fort peephole I could see him weaving our way. Somebody else was back there, too, but I couldn’t make out who and I stopped caring when I heard our father’s cursing effort to get situated on the fort steps. Woody grabbed onto my neck when he hollered up the trunk, “Your mother . . . she’s . . . get down here.” Knowing better than to tangle with him when he got like that, Woody and me stayed right where we were, which proved to be for the best, because a little while later Mars quit barking and gave off a blood-curdling yelp and Papa went back to the clearing, nearly crawling.

At the time I thought to myself, Papa needs to stop trying to match his father and brother drink for drink. I got so ugly with my sister for interrupting my sleep. “Quit bein’ such a titty baby,” I snapped at her. “You know he acts and talks foolish when he’s soused. You know that. All we got to do is wait him out. Mama’s around here somewhere. She’s not gone. She’s got nowhere to go.” I looked up at the house to make certain. I’d often catch our mother peeking out the curtains, like she was expecting somebody or maybe she was just watching over Woody and me, I don’t know. But that night, their bedroom window was dark and empty. So with a leave-me-alone grunt, I curled back up and was almost to sleep when Woody whispered into my ear the last words she’s spoken since that night, “Mama . . . gone.”

That’s when I recalled how little our mother enjoyed the carnival no matter how hard Papa and Grampa tried to force her to. And how later on in the evening, I got mad because she didn’t give Woody and me the money to see the Oddities Show but she was taking a ride on the merry-go-round with our friend Sam Moody. He was straddling a white horse and Mama was a few rows back in a swan. They should’ve been smiling, but they looked like they’d just lost their best friend. Good, I thought, I’m glad they’re sad, because I was still feeling so het up about Woody and me having to crawl under the tent to see the freak show like some poor children.

When that merry-go-round memory came back to me up in the fort that night, I didn’t even bother pulling on my sneakers, just a balled-up shirt and shorts. I reached for my flashlight and hissed at Woody as I undid the get-down hatch, “You’re actin’ like Sarah Heartburn, but since it looks like you’re gonna go on and on and not let me get a minute’s sleep until I do so, I’ll go look for Mama. She’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

My sister tried to stop me, but I shook her off. I didn’t let on to her, but all of a sudden it seemed possible that Papa wasn’t talking from out of the bottom of a bottle. Maybe our mother really
wasn’t
where she was supposed to be. What if she and Sam, neither one of them being gregarious of personality, had gotten off the ride and made their way back to his cabin to finish discussing their book of the week in peace and quiet? What if when they got done conversing, Mama dozed off? Realizing how world-coming-to-an-end horrible that would be, I told Woody, “If Papa comes back, do
not
leave this fort no matter how much he begs, ya hear me?”

I slid down the fort steps and charged barefoot through the front woods all the way over to the Triple S. Hopping up Sam’s cabin steps, I waved my flashlight the full length of the porch, but did not see my mother sprawled out in the swing.
She might be inside,
I thought. Sam had that table fan and it was so sticky that night. I pounded my fists on the front door.

Sam called out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.”

He opened the door sweaty and with a shotgun. “Shenny? Where’s Woody?” Sam looked out over my head into the darkness.

“Is Mama here?” I dived straight into explaining what’d happened back in the clearing. By the time I got done telling him about Papa yelling about his wife being gone and Mars yelping and Woody weeping, I was crying some, too.

“Your mother,” Sam said. “Did she say anything to you earlier in the evening? Did she leave you a note?” His scared was making my scared even worse.

“I . . . I don’t know nothin’ about that.” I backed away. “If Mama should show up, would you make her come home as fast as she can? Tell her that His Honor . . . that . . . he’s very disappointed,” I said, and took off.

I was in the middle of the station lot when Sam called out, “Be careful.”

Those warning words made goose bumps rise up on my arms, because I immediately understood that Sam didn’t mean to be
careful
like I should watch out for reckless drivers when I crossed over the road or shouldn’t let any branches scratch my face on my way back home through the woods. He was warning me to
be careful
like—be
full of care
. I will never forget it. The way the neon of his station sign washed my arms red, the dog barking up the road, my heart that had galloped up to my throat. That steamy night is when I realized that Sam
knew
. That Mama must’ve told him private family business. I still don’t know how much she divulged, but what would possess her to go skating on thin ice like that?