Orphan Maker (26 page)

“I’m sorry, Gwen.” Loomis sat up, turning toward her. “I’m so sorry.”

Gwen fought off the kindness, slapping Loomis’s hand away from her. “I ain’t looking for pity. I’m telling you so you understand. You have to talk about what happened!”

Loomis pulled back, hurt on her face. “No, I can’t. Not ever.”

“It’s killing you, Marissa. Can’t you see that?”

“You don’t understand!” Loomis jumped out of bed again, marching toward the wardrobe.

Gwen scrambled to the foot of the bed. “Then make me understand. Tell me. How is what happened to you so different than the experience I had, than a hundred other girls had at the same time and have every day since the plague? How?”

Climbing into her pants, Loomis angrily pulled the suspenders up over her nightshirt. “Shut up.” She grabbed a heavy sweater.

“No, I won’t shut up. Open your eyes. I’m right here. I’ll help you. I hate seeing you like this.”

Loomis spun around, glaring at Gwen as she pulled her sweater on over her nightclothes. “You sure it isn’t just because you think I can protect you, that I’m a leader in this community? You only came here because you want power.” She gave a derisive laugh as she picked up her boots. “The joke’s on you, isn’t it? I’m just a manipulative bitch like you are, not a leader. Not the power you were looking for. Maybe you should go back to Weasel.”

Gwen gaped as Loomis threw open the door and left. She heard Emerita soothe a whimpering Franklin, only then realizing that she and Loomis had been shouting. The front door of the cabin slammed shut. Before Gwen could think to follow, Cara materialized barefoot in the bedroom doorway looking ethereal in her nightgown, her auburn hair flowing free.

“What the hell just happened?”

Sullen in the face of the accusatory stare aimed at her, Gwen looked away. “None of your business.”

“Wrong.” Cara marched forward. “You made it my business when you attacked my cousin and woke up the whole house to do it.”

“I didn’t—”

“Liar! She just had a nightmare, and you went poking and prodding into things you ought not to. Admit it.”

Gwen glared at the finger waving under her nose. “Cara.”

“That’s what I thought.” Cara bent down to glare directly into Gwen’s eyes. “I told you not to say that name in my house and I meant it. I didn’t hear it this time, but if I find out you’re defying me, I’ll have your carcass hauled off to town before you can spit. Do you understand me?”

At least the finger was gone. The temptation to reach out and bite Cara’s nose instead was still as strong. “I understand.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

As much as Gwen wanted to argue, she knew better. Cara ruled the cabin. Gwen had no idea if she’d ever banished a person from the homestead before, and didn’t want to test the possibility. She realized it wouldn’t change her desire to get Loomis alone, to get her to express the emotions she’d kept bottled up all these years. Loomis deserved a life without that festering, soul-sucking wound inside her.

Cara studied her a long moment before deciding her message had sunk in. She turned and left the bedroom, making a visible attempt to not slam the door as she left.

A vision of living in another homestead filled Gwen’s mind. Even if it held one of the town council or Weasel, she knew she wouldn’t be interested in them. Not like she was interested in Loomis. She climbed out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t get any more sleep tonight. As she dressed, her eyes kept drifting toward the small window, wondering where Loomis went. Probably to one of the barns. Gwen tidied the bed then sank to the floor, fingers picking at the ridges of the rag rug. No, if she got evicted from the Loomis homestead, she’d still be fascinated with Marissa Loomis. She’d still want to help Loomis through this emotional minefield. The memory of their morning kiss brushed across her mind as her fingers touched her lips. This went beyond being drawn to power.

Loomis was a friend.

***

Loomis slowly became aware of her surroundings, raising her head from her forearms to lean it back against the rough wood of the sheep barn. She’d outdone herself this time, making up for yesterday’s peaceful slumber. The sun hadn’t even breathed a hint of gray into the sky outside and wouldn’t for another couple of hours. She sniffled and wiped her face with the hem of her sweater. Taking a bracing breath, she stretched out her legs and sat listening to the gentle shuffle of half-awake sheep. Did sheep dream? She had a faint recollection of a science fiction book titled something about electric sheep. Following the tendril of thought, she tried to pry out more information to no avail. Listless, she brought her palms up to rub her eyes, smearing away the last of the tears.

What am I going to do?
This last nightmare had been the mother of of them all, as vivid as those she’d experienced that first year. She had almost believed it was real when Gwen had awakened her. It was lucky she hadn’t had a weapon to hand, or Gwen might be sporting a serious injury right now. Shame coursed through her. She brought her feet up and propped her elbows onto her knees, holding her head in her hands. Panicked from the nightmare, angry that Gwen wouldn’t let things lie, she’d said some mean things. She consoled herself with Gwen’s apparent history.
She doesn’t want me. She wants power.
Loomis couldn’t fault Gwen, not after what Gwen had told her about Beau. Gwen had revealed a horrible time in her life, and Loomis had offered little to no support, too busy wallowing in her own pain.

But she didn’t want help, did she?
Loomis frowned. The memory was hazy with violent recollections and tumultuous emotions, making it difficult to focus. Yes, she remembered coming out of her fugue only to have Gwen shut her down.
“I ain’t looking for pity. I’m telling you so you understand.”
Understand what? That being brutally raped and beaten, losing a child to the injuries was just as bad as what Loomis had been through, that hundreds of girls have already been through? That was a given. Loomis had latched onto her pregnancy with rabid vehemence, using it to soothe her horror. The baby was innocent of any wrongdoing, and she had the opportunity to raise a child she otherwise would never have. Megan had been a godsend and a blessing. Loomis would have died without her. She couldn’t imagine a world where she’d lost Megan and didn’t want to.

Gwen just wanted to know what had happened. Loomis couldn’t fault her for natural curiosity, but the more Gwen harped on knowing the specifics, the worse Loomis suffered. Gwen was like a recalcitrant bulldog gnawing on a new boot and unwilling to let it go. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. What the hell was she supposed to do? Smack Gwen on the nose with a newspaper? It’d be a good bet the newspaper would be shredded in a matter of seconds if she tried. She snorted in reluctant humor.

Had Gwen put up this much fuss with Weasel? She’d left him quick enough when they got to Lindsay Crossing. Had she ever become so involved in his life that he had wanted to pull his hair out? Would he tell her if she asked? Loomis doubted she’d ever have a sit-down talk with Weasel. The boy was seriously jealous of Gwen’s choice to leave him. Did he love her? Loomis grunted, taking a deep breath. The more important question was whether or not Gwen Grant loved him. Up until Festival, Loomis hadn’t even known they’d been together, so she doubted it.
Why can’t she just let it go?

Breakfast was a dour affair. The younger children were quiet and uncertain, perceptibly watching their elders for signals. Rick and Heather remained subdued in stark contrast to Cara’s and Terry’s unconcealed glowers. Kevin and Lucky sat at the end of the table near Tommy Boy and Emerita, following Rick’s lead. Tommy Boy’s natural scowl had returned full force, and he stared back at Cara and Terry, matching them glare for glare. Loomis had earlier come to grab a piece of toast, immediately disappearing back outside, leaving Gwen no opportunity to make amends. Their argument had divided the homestead down the middle. She had to make things right soon before it all blew up in front of her.

Rick was the first to stand, taking his plate to the kitchen. When he returned, he said, “Tommy, let’s head out to the barn and give Loomis a hand.”

Tommy Boy debated with himself, glancing at Gwen for some indication of what to do. She nodded to him. “Farm work is an all-day thing, dawg. We have to take care of the critters, then work in the garden.” She picked up her plate, the others following her lead. “Lots of chores to keep you busy.” She led the way to the kitchen, and then outdoors, ignoring Cara’s narrowed gaze. Let the bitch stew. It was none of her damned business anyway.

Out in the sheep barn, Loomis was noticeably absent though the sheep had been corralled for milking. Frowning, Gwen helped Rick set up the milking platforms as Kevin and Terry went out among the flock to sort them. Tommy Boy seemed affronted as Rick explained the purpose of herding the ewe into the milker. Even with the worry and tension hanging over her head, Gwen was hard-pressed not to laugh at her friend’s disgust. She’d been there herself two weeks ago.

Terry stuck his head inside the barn. “Twinkles and Hazard are missing.”

Concern washed over Gwen. “Do you think they had their lambs?”

“Might be where Loomis is.”

Rick headed out to the pasture beyond the barn, his companions following him. Kevin and Terry broke into a trot, breaking away to the left while the others spread out as they walked. From a cursory scan of the field there was nothing to see, but this pasture wasn’t a level stretch of land. Dips and swells gave the sheep natural nooks in which to hide themselves. Rick reached down to poke at a nearly barren patch of ground. “We’ll have to move them to the next pasture soon. This one’s about ate up.”

Gwen looked at the patchwork fencing in a new light. She’d wondered why this huge tract of grassland had been divided. “You do that often?”

“Two or three times a year. We rotate through as we go, till up the ground after they’ve left. When we can find clover or grass seed, we throw it down just to keep it in growth. Sometimes we grow barley. Between the pasture and the chicken coop, we always have rich soil to use in the garden.” He pointed ahead. “I think Hazard was hanging around this area a while, probably scoping out a birthing place.”

“How long you been doing this, dawg?” Tommy Boy asked.

Rick grinned. “All my life. Our parents fancied themselves survivalists and homesteaders. They did a lot of research before they bought this land. Built it up…well, with my aunt and uncle’s help.” He set out in the direction he’d pointed toward. “They chose Icelandic sheep because they’re the best, all around. Natural twinners, mild-mannered, decent wool and a primary meat breed. Come September, we’ll have you and your family around for a lamb feast. Nothing better.” He smacked his lips.

Up until recently, Gwen couldn’t imagine eating meat other than rats and possum caught in the city. After a recent diet that included ham, rabbit and chicken, she considered the flock in a new light. “You kill the lambs? Why not the adults?”

“We do, some of them. The girls give us milk and the boys do the mating, though. Don’t want to deplete our stock.” Rick looked at Tommy Boy. “If you think you’re interested, we’ll slaughter fewer lambs this season. Give you a starter flock if you’d like.”

Consternation crossed Tommy Boy’s face at the thought. Before he could respond, Kevin shouted, waving at them. Terry’s blond head was barely visible in the nubby grass. Loomis sat beside Terry in a small fold of pasture. For a wonder, the kid was smiling, as was his cousin. Gwen felt her lips quirk in sympathetic response as she crested the tiny mound. Hazard bleated placidly as a newborn lamb punched at her teat with lively energy. Terry held a second lamb in his lap, stroking its fur, and Kevin dropped to the ground beside him to pet it.

Gwen sank down beside Loomis, watching the lamb struggle out of Terry’s lap to join its sibling. “Natural twinners, huh?”

“Yep.” Loomis glanced at her companion briefly, a haunted flicker in her dark eyes. “I bet Twinkles is somewhere nearby with another pair all her own.”

Tentatively, Gwen reached out to touch one of the newborns, pleased at the soft pelt beneath her fingers.

“Should see a half dozen more birthing over the next couple of weeks.” Rick stood with his hands on his hips. “Terry, why don’t you and Kevin see if you can find Twinkles. Let’s make sure she’s okay before we head back to the chores.”

Terry nodded and jumped to his feet. “Come on, Kev.”

Gwen used her hand to shade her eyes against the early morning sunlight cresting the mountains. “What happens now?”

“We leave them here. She’ll come in when she’s ready.” Loomis patted Hazard. “I want to get the lambs tagged before the end of the day.”

“Tag ’em?” Tommy Boy scowled. “Paint?”

Gwen snickered. Tagging in the city meant something completely different here. In the city, gangs spray-painted their signs on buildings to indicate territory. “Kind of. We notch the ears to let everyone know who they belong to. Like branding in the old western movies.”

Tommy Boy’s scowl became fierce. “You got a problem with thieves here?” He looked around the pasture as if expecting to see sheep rustlers come climbing out of the woods.

“No.” Rick shook his head. “It’s something we did before Orphan Maker, just automatic these days.”

“Besides, sometimes we lend out our rams. There’s one other Icelandic herd in the valley.” Loomis stood, dusting off the seat of her pants. “Makes it easier to identify when we pick them up again. Our sign is a single notch in the left ear. The other herd is two notches in the right.” She bent to rub one of the lambs on the head. “Best to get it done first thing so it doesn’t pain them later.” Another shout indicated that the boys had found Twinkles.

“Tommy? Let’s head back to the barn, get the snips and salve.” Rick and Tommy Boy walked back across the pasture.

Loomis and Gwen looked at each other. Gwen held up her hand, a silent request for assistance in getting to her feet. Loomis took a moment to consider before resignation curled her lip. She helped Gwen to her feet, but Gwen didn’t release her.