Once Upon a River (23 page)

“Margaret?” Joanna whispered. “Is that you?”

Margo nodded.

“What are you doing here?”

Margo took a breath, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Maybe Joanna was reading the pain in her face, because her tone softened.

“You look thin. And your hair. Your pretty hair. It’s . . .”

Margo reached up and touched her hair, brushed away some pine needles. She had not washed her hair since she’d left Michael’s three weeks ago.

“I need a shower,” she said.

“Oh, Sprite, it is you, isn’t it?” Joanna leaned toward Margo as though she wanted to hug her or inspect her, but then pulled back and glanced behind her at the door leading to the living room. “Oh, dear. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. I was just in the woods. Looking for mushrooms.” Margo whispered because Joanna was whispering. She could smell the cinnamon bread Joanna must have made for the next day’s breakfast, and also some greasy meat.

“I thought you were with your mama, Sprite. You left us that note. Your uncle Cal was angry at you. He still is.”

“I know.” Hearing Joanna use her old nickname made her feel acutely all she’d lost.

“You stole his most valuable rifle.”

Margo nodded and glanced at the Marlin leaning against the wall. She would have liked to ask if she could come inside, clean up, sit quietly in the kitchen for a few minutes, but she only choked out, “Could I . . . ?” and stopped.

“What do you want from us?” Joanna was crying, and Margo found she was, too.

“To come back for a while,” she said, “until I can go to my mom’s.” Annie Oakley had begged her mother to let her return.

“Oh, Margaret. God knows I could use your helpful hands in this house.” Joanna glanced again at the door to the living room. She said, “I don’t want anyone to hear us. You knew that man who broke your uncle Cal’s legs? He told everyone in the courtroom he was doing it for what Cal did to ‘a certain young girl.’ That was a hard time for Cal, with everyone thinking the worst of him.”

“I didn’t want him to hurt Uncle Cal,” Margo said. She looked down at Joanna’s bare shins and at her feet, clad in the worn leather shoes Margo remembered. Joanna was blessedly the same. Margo felt mosquitoes bothering her face, but she didn’t move to slap them. One landed on Joanna’s cheek, and Margo hoped Joanna wouldn’t shut the door yet.

“Cal’s started walking with the crutches. We’re very hopeful.”

“I saw him,” Margo said. “With Julie.”

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut.

Margo recognized Joanna’s homemade dress. The blue-flowered fabric was more faded than when Margo had last seen it. Margo had never loved a dress more than she loved Joanna’s dress now. Joanna opened her eyes and shook her head. “You know, a strong marriage is a strange thing. It makes you have faith in your husband regardless of how things appear.”

Margo kept looking at Joanna’s exhausted face. Joanna, in return, seemed to be studying Margo for a clue to what had happened to all of them. Joanna had always been the opposite of Margo’s mother, strict where Luanne was permissive, plain while her mother was pretty, hardworking while her mother was bone-lazy, modest and religious while her mother was egotistical and dramatic. They were as different as Brian and Michael.

“I blame your mama,” Joanna said. “She should have taken you with her. I’m sorry if I had something to do with her going away.”

Margo didn’t know what she meant.

“Where are you staying? With friends?”

Margo hesitated, but because of the concerned look on Joanna’s face, she nodded and said, “With a friend.”

“Cal had someone on the school board look for you at all the schools in the county, and you’re not enrolled. This is no way to grow up, with no schooling, sneaking around at night. Let me think about this. Let me try to figure out whether there’s any way for you to live here until we find your mama.”

Margo did not want to disagree with anything Joanna might say, not about her mother, not about where she would be staying, not about going to school. She wondered if it would be easier to go to school now that she’d missed two years. She’d be with all new kids, younger kids. She’d heard of kids going to school part-time.

“I’ve got her address,” Margo said. “She wrote to me. Said she wasn’t ready for me to come yet.”

“I don’t know how much you know, but things aren’t going well for your uncle Cal and the company.” Joanna glanced behind her.

Margo nodded.

“If anybody comes in the kitchen, don’t let them see you. Billy will make a big fuss if he sees you. He’s still mad about his grandfather’s boat, you know.”

“Billy’s not locked up?” Margo felt her heart sink.

“Of course not. I mean, he had a little trouble, but he’s out now. Did you hear about that?”

“The police took him after he shot my dad.”

“Yes, for questioning and evaluation.” Joanna was looking at her strangely. “That was all. It was self-defense, defense of his papa. You and Billy both told the police that. So did your uncle Cal.”

“Oh.” Margo felt confused. “I wish I could say hi to Junior.”

“Junior’s in Alaska.”

“Alaska? With Loring?”

“He graduated from the military school. He was living back at home, and he and Cal were fighting all the time, so he went up there with a school friend. Now he’s working on a fishing boat. He says he loves it.” Joanna smiled.

“But I just saw him in the living room. You were sewing on his jacket.”

“You saw Billy. He’s gotten taller than Junior or his papa. The doctors put him on medication that helps him with his moods and his temper. Junior asked me to mail him his jacket, and I’m trying to put a flannel lining in it to surprise him. Now wait here a minute.” When Joanna returned less than a minute later, she stuffed a paper grocery bag into Margo’s arms. “Here’s some slices of my bread that you always loved and a little jar of your favorite peach jam. You can share it with your friend.”

“Thank you,” Margo said. The bag was warm and smelled of cinnamon. She glanced inside to see that Joanna had given her about a third of the cinnamon swirl breakfast loaf. Some of the boys would have to eat plain bread tomorrow.

“Are you sure you have a place to stay?” Joanna asked. “You could sleep in the barn if you needed to. Some of the kids had a sleepover out there last week. There’s probably still blankets out there.”

Margo would not take a chance on staying in the barn, so far away from where she could hide her boat. And so long as it wasn’t raining, she preferred to sleep outside, where she’d hear someone coming and be able to run.

From inside, upstairs, Margo heard a wail.

“Randy’s crying,” Joanna said.

Margo must have looked confused.

“You don’t know?” Joanna said, and her eyes spilled over. “Of course. How could you know? I had a baby.”

“A baby? Congratulations.” Margo hoped it was the right thing to say. What Margo had done to Cal, then, had not stopped him from making another baby. It had been exactly what she had intended to do—not damage him permanently, but only make him hurt. Her revenge had been just right, and yet it had all gone so wrong.

“A boy?”

“A boy. Yes.” Joanna’s voice cracked. “I was so sure it would be a girl this time. I was going to name her Rachel, after my sister.”

“What’s he like? I wish I could see him.”

“Your new cousin has Down syndrome,” Joanna said and swallowed as though she dreaded explaining. “That’s why we had to get rid of the dogs. The barking made him scream and cry.
Down syndrome
is what they say now, not
Mongoloid.
”

“Down syndrome,” Margo said and nodded.

Joanna shook her head. “I love him, but I’m so tired. I paid Julie to help me for a while, but . . . Oh, Nymph, you were the only one of the kids who was ever really helpful.”

“I always loved helping,” she whispered.

“You know, Cal was furious when you disappeared and left that note. Why didn’t you stay for the burial?”

“What burial? Daddy was cremated.”

“But we interred his box of ashes in the cemetery, on the north edge. Cal made all the boys go along.”

“I didn’t know they put ashes in a cemetery.” Margo had thought that when a person was cremated, he was simply gone. “Did Billy go?”

Joanna nodded. “For three months, your uncle Cal wouldn’t tell the police you were gone. Not until they needed your signature. Then he told them you’d gone to your mother’s, out of the state.”

Margo shook her head. She had been living with Brian at that time.

“They looked for your mother,” Joanna said, “but said they couldn’t find her. How did you find her?”

“I asked around and sent letters,” Margo said. She wished she could have been at her father’s funeral, despite Billy’s being there. Margo’s heart started to feel squeezed when she thought about Billy living comfortably with his family, as though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I hear somebody coming. Come back and talk to me tomorrow morning if you can. The boys’ll be at day camp, and Billy’s in summer school. I’ll make you something nice to eat.” Joanna closed the door.

• Chapter Fourteen •

Back at the marijuana house, Margo devoured Joanna’s bread with jam and wiped the jam jar clean. As kids, Margo and Junior used to pile the chunky peach preserves on their toast as thick as pie filling. The food fired something up in her, and it took her a long time to fall asleep. The following morning was hazy, and Margo slept late. She wanted more bread and jam so powerfully that she couldn’t bring herself to eat the vegetables she’d collected and so went hungry. While she packed up all her things, she was feeling dopey, and because of the hazy sky she couldn’t get a sense of what time it was. She parked her boat downstream from the Murray house, by the shed, and snuck up close enough to lie on her belly and spy. She saw Joanna at the window over the kitchen sink. After about twenty minutes, Joanna stepped outside, wiped her hands on her apron, and searched the horizon. Margo was happy to know that Joanna was looking for her. Soon she would stand up, walk to the house, and rest the Annie Oakley Marlin in the rack on the porch, but for just a little longer she needed to observe this place, to let it sink in that she was returning home, at least for a visit. Joanna tilted her head as though hearing something, the baby crying perhaps, and she hurried back inside. Margo knew how badly Joanna needed her help, so maybe she would find a way to bring Margo back to the family. After school, Margo would come home to babysit and care for the Down’s baby. Margo would help cook bread and pies for the Murray men and boys, and Joanna could teach her to cook soups and stews this winter, ones Margo hadn’t yet attempted. Joanna knew how to cook everything. Maybe Margo could learn from Uncle Hank how to smoke pork and make bacon.

She lay for a long time in the cool, damp grass, waiting for another glimpse of Joanna. If Joanna went out to the overgrown garden to pick tomatoes, Margo would join her there and pick beside her. After a while Margo noticed the front of her shirt was soaked from the grass. She sat up and aimed her rifle at the kitchen door. She thought she smelled cinnamon across the distance, maybe from a pie or tomorrow’s cinnamon bread. She let her rifle lie in her lap. This was the time of year Joanna might be making more peach jam. Apples would be ripe soon, the golden delicious for eating and the tart Jonathans for making pies. Some years Joanna made apple butter, cooking the fruits down until they had a smoky, caramel flavor and then adding spices. Margo had never tired of peeling apples in the Murray kitchen.

Margo would always have enough to eat if she could return to the Murrays’, and she would not be lonely for people. Too bad there would be no Junior to crack jokes and commiserate with, no dogs to pet. Probably she would not have a rifle of her own. Still Margo’s mouth watered for all the delicious foods she would cook and eat, and she would have Joanna’s companionship in the kitchen. Margo looked forward to the rowdy dinner conversation she had always loved listening to.

“Nympho!” shouted a voice from the river, a man’s voice.

Margo stayed low as she moved toward the shed and her boat. There, standing at the prow of
The River Rose
, gripping some kind of long gun in one hand, was Billy. Joanna was right that he’d grown taller than Junior. He froze as he listened for a response, but didn’t see Margo twenty-some yards away. She flattened herself on the ground the way the Indian hunter did when stalking. As she took aim at Billy, her breathing slowed. She could shoot Billy through the back of his neck, sever his spine without his ever seeing her. She knew it must be river fog or her hunger for bread and jam making her hallucinate, but she thought she saw several other Murrays standing alongside Billy. Real Murrays were never truly alone, she thought.

“Bang,” she whispered to herself, to release a little of what was pent up inside her. She had been so distracted and in such a hurry to see Joanna this morning that she had left the oars in the oarlocks, left the oar blades resting on the back seat, flanking her backpack, which sat so that the stenciled name C
RANE
faced up. She hadn’t even placed a branch over the boat to camouflage it.