Orphan Maker (27 page)

“I’m sorry, Marissa.” Frozen, Loomis stared into Gwen’s eyes.
But she’s not running.
“I care about you. You’re my friend.” The moment stretched on. “Even if you throw me out, that won’t change, okay?”

Loomis blinked. “Okay.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “Thanks.” She didn’t clarify whether she was expressing gratitude for their words or the assistance rendered. She smiled, gently reaching up to cup Loomis’s cheek. “I can wait as long as it takes.” Her smile widened as those cinnamon-hazel eyes dilated, and she released Loomis and walked away. It wasn’t the greatest of apologies, but it would do for now.

***

“Hold up.”

Hoe in hand, Gwen turned. Heather lumbered toward her, one hand on her growing belly. A stray thought crossed Gwen’s mind.
I can probably get away before she catches me.
Her gaze darted across the rest of the household as they all prepared to work in the garden, and she dismissed the idea. Things were barely civil between her and Cara; no need to rile the woman up any more than necessary by insulting her cousin-in-law.

Heather smiled, gesturing to a distant row of vegetables. “Let’s start over there.”

Gwen debated another moment, noting that she was being steered as far away from the others as possible. She allowed herself to be led away. Cara gave her the stink eye, but didn’t make an effort to corral her. Soon she was hoeing weeds out of the cucumber patch, Heather occupying the next row over. They worked in silence for ten or fifteen minutes before Gwen finally spoke. “So, what’s this about?”

Pink tinged Heather’s complexion, but she didn’t try to avoid the truth. “Thought you might like a friend, someone who’s not going to ream you for asking questions.”

Gwen blinked, pausing a second. “Does that mean you’re offering answers?”

“If I can.”

A quick glance at the other end of the garden showed Cara attacking the beans with single-minded intensity. “Won’t you get into trouble with Queen Bi—Cara?”

Heather chuckled at the smothered swear word. “She’s protective of Loomis, that’s all. Everyone is.”

“You should be. Loomis is special.” Gwen felt her face heat up as Heather gave her a knowing smirk. Deciding to take the plunge, Gwen continued. “But you guys are hurting her more than protecting her.”

“I think so, too.”

Gwen stopped her work to stare at this unlikely ally. “What about Rick? He’s as bad as Cara is.”

Heather gave a one-shoulder shrug. “He can be, yeah. But we’ve been talking. You may be right.”

“About what?”

“That Loomis needs someone to talk to. It’s eating her up inside.” Heather shifted her stance to reach a stubborn patch of new weed growth. “She’s not eating right, not getting enough sleep. Leaving her alone hasn’t worked, so maybe your idea is a better one.”

Gwen frowned, returning to work before Cara decided to come over to see why she wasn’t. “I know some of it. Riddick’s crew attacked and raped her. Megan’s the result, and Rick killed her father.”

“Then you know almost as much as I do.”

Again Gwen stopped, this time to stare in disbelief. “You’re kidding.” She gestured at Heather’s swollen body. “How long have you lived here?”

“About a year and a half.” Heather grinned. “Most of what I know is gossip from town when it happened. Cara and Rick don’t discuss it any more than Loomis does.”

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Gwen considered this new wrinkle. Terry hadn’t even known Riddick’s name, let alone what Loomis’s nightmares were about. Still, bare information was better than none at all. “Tell me.”

Heather nodded and spent the next ten minutes filling Gwen in on the particulars. Someone had died that night, but no one in town knew who it had been. The Faber homestead hadn’t talked any more than the Loomis one had on that matter, though they had helped clean up the mess. Heather couldn’t even substantiate the rumor that Rick had killed the intruder or chased away the others. The one time Heather had asked him, she said he had clammed up and threatened to never speak to her again. “They swore a pact of secrecy between them. I’ve talked to Annie, especially in the beginning, and she doesn’t know much beyond what I do. I don’t think anyone does.”

“And that’s why it’s killing Loomis.” Gwen paused to wipe her forehead. The day was heating nicely, and she pulled off her dress shirt to tie the arms around her waist. “No one’s talking about it. She can’t let it go until she does.”

“Rick and I agree.”

Gwen snorted. “But not enough for him to tell you what really happened.”

Heather bent and used the hem of her shirt to daub her forehead. “I told you. The three of them swore secrecy. It’s what Loomis wanted.” Her confident stance didn’t change under Gwen’s scornful stare. “Maybe at first it was because Loomis just couldn’t deal with it, but then she turned up pregnant. Would you want a child to know she was the product of rape?”

Put in that light, Gwen mentally backpedaled from her contempt. Her gaze sought and found Megan. She and Delia played some game at the nearby picnic table. Lucky sat with them, caring for Oscar and Franklin while Emerita learned about gardening from Rick. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

“I doubt anyone else has.” Heather followed Gwen’s gaze. “It’s going to be rough on her when she begins hearing the gossip. It’ll happen sooner or later.”

A twinge of anger ran through Gwen at the thought. Megan was a sweet little girl, and didn’t deserve the shit for something she had no control over. Just like her mother. “If I keep pushing, Cara’s going to have me banished.”

“She can’t do that. Only Loomis can.” Heather gently grasped Gwen’s upper arm. “Rick thinks you two have something going on between you. Is he right?”

A blush heated Gwen’s face. “Maybe.”

Heather smiled. “Good. Loomis needs someone, whether she realizes it or not.”

Gwen chuckled, remembering the morning Megan kissed her in the dragon tent. “Is that the Rick Loomis Seal of Approval?”

“Yep.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Heather.”

“Any time. Sisters have to stick together.”

Sisters.
Gwen looked over the homestead, searching and finding the telltale auburn hair near the tomatoes where Loomis instructed a studious Tommy Boy. Gwen’s heart fluttered in her chest, another rush of heat sweeping up her throat and into her face. Providing she could make this work, this was her family now, and would be until the day she died. Her eyes swept the garden, seeing Cara’s anger for the fear it was, noting Rick’s subtle deferment to his sister as guilt for not protecting her well enough. Something ugly had bound those three together as children; it was to be expected that they would react as children even now. Revealing the truth would allow all of them to move past this atrocity and on with their lives. Was that why Cara didn’t go with James Kipfer? She wouldn’t leave Loomis because she felt guilty too?

Loomis looked up, her face pinched as she hesitantly met Gwen’s eyes. Gwen smiled, gave a slight wave, and returned to work. Knowing Rick and Heather backed her up strengthened her resolve.
I’ll be there for you, Marissa Loomis, whether you want me to be or not.

***

“This is the springhouse.” Loomis led Tommy Boy and Emerita into the small stone building. The interior chill, fed by the creek gurgling through the middle of the room, felt good on her heated skin. She inhaled deeply, drawing as much of the coolness into her lungs as possible. “I know of a couple of places we can set you up with that have running water on the premises. We’ll build a springhouse for you there. This is where we keep things cool during summer.”

The newcomers peered at the boxes and baskets scattered around the springhouse. Emerita walked to the low stone divider, looking down at the water below. “But you have a refrigerator. I’ve seen it in that little room off the kitchen.”

“The stillroom, yeah.” Loomis ran a hand through her hair. “Our folks put up solar panels so we could have one, but it’s small. It isn’t as much of a power hog as some of them can be. We can’t guarantee we’ll find any solar panels for you in Cascade when we do a run. For electricity you need the right number of panels, a block of deep cycle batteries, and an inverter. Up here in the mountains, those are scarce.” She gestured at the stored goods. “It’d be best to locate you on a homestead where we can build a springhouse. We store butter and some of our early harvest here. Pretty much anything that just needs to stay cool.”

Emerita shivered, rubbing her upper arms. “What happens when it freezes?”

Loomis came forward and looked down into the water. “We built this thing over the natural creek bed, did a little diverting with rocks and concrete. The water doesn’t always freeze up inside here during winter. Even when it does, though, this then becomes our freezer ’til spring.”

“You use it all year?”

“Yeah.” Loomis glanced at Tommy Boy who had joined them. “We have to live with the seasons to survive. Fridge by summer, freezer by winter. Anything that can’t handle being frozen can be hauled into the root cellar or stillroom in the cabin.” She watched him look around the room, cataloguing the goods. Not for the first time did she wonder if she was doing the right thing by inviting this hardened young man and his family into her household. Walker’s remarks about the deadly experience these city kids had compared to their townie counterparts were a valid concern. Gwen thought it was a safe bet. But was Gwen safe?

“You got a lot of buildings here, dawg.” Tommy Boy scratched his abdomen. “Do we really need all that much?”

Loomis forced her mind to the present. “We can convert a house in town if you want, but those people have skills they use to barter with.”

Emerita cocked her head. “What kind of skills?”

“Baking, hunting, blacksmithing, traplines, weapons.” Loomis ticked off her fingers. “We have two blacksmiths who taught themselves from what they could find in McAdam. One isn’t that skilled, but he does decent repair work. He’s been getting better, learning how to shoe horses and build iron cookware and the like. The other has figured out how to salvage car steel for knives. Got a couple of trappers who barter the meat and skins from their line. Hart runs the distillery—I think he’s planning on opening a pub so people can come drink whenever they want. Then there’s Simon Massey—he and his girl bake bread every day for anyone who wants to trade. He’ll make a cake or cupcakes if you bring sweetener and extra eggs. The old body shop has been converted to a millhouse by the Kochs. It isn’t all that big, but we don’t have a lot of grains to grind around here, mostly cornmeal.”

She stopped, catching a despairing look pass between them. “That’s why we should probably set you up on your own homestead with a decent amount of land. Once you’ve been around awhile, you can learn new things that others might want. It’s not all about survival anymore. If you’ve a good eye with art you can make clothes, jewelry and the like. And remember, everything we salvage out of Cascade that isn’t a residence is split among the entire population. You’ll have a good stake to start with.”

Her words didn’t seem to make an impression on Tommy Boy. His jaw muscles moved as he ground his teeth, staring over his girlfriend’s head. Emerita reached up and took his arm, forcing him to look down at her. “I don’t want Franklin growing up alone, T. He needs kids to play with.”

He grimaced but patted her hand.

Loomis heard Gwen’s words.
“They’re my family, Marissa. I can’t let them go.”
The memory of Gwen’s clear gaze stayed with her, Weasel’s opinion of Gwen’s loyalties washing away in that brief moment. Gwen might be nosy and pushy, but she cared for something, cared for someone who wasn’t a powerful leader. “You’re not alone, Tommy. Even if you and your family live away from everybody else, we’re still here for you. You can always call on the Loomis homestead, no questions asked, no strings attached.”

Tommy stared down at Loomis’s offered hand. For a wonder, he didn’t demand what benefit she’d get from helping them. Perhaps he was finally understanding the necessity of community, whether one lived in a “hippie commune” or not. He shook her hand.

Relieved, Loomis gestured toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the smokehouse now.”

They preceded her out, and she stopped long enough to scan the springhouse, not seeing or smelling the mossy stone. Gwen cared for these people, people she’d shared a dangerous life with, people who weren’t powerful or in charge, people who couldn’t take care of themselves without her help.

Maybe Weasel’s wrong.

“Back off! Get out!” Loomis stared wildly into the darkness of her bedroom.

Gwen knelt on the bed, hands held up before her. “Marissa. It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just the nightmare again.”

Breathing hard, Loomis stared hard at Gwen, realizing the truth. To seal the deal, she heard a light tap on the door as Rick asked if she was okay. A sob escaped her, and she bent double, hands on her knees. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”

The shifting bedsprings brought her attention back to Gwen who eased toward her. Apprehension filled Loomis at the expected interrogation, but Gwen said nothing. Her hands and arms guided Loomis, the tender touch battering at the internal walls she had built to defend herself. Sitting on the side of the bed, feet cold against the rag rug, she found herself clinging to Gwen, unable to stop crying. She fought hard to keep quiet, to not scare the children or awaken the rest of the household. Gwen seemed to understand her need for silence, and pulled a pillow close. Grateful, Loomis buried her face into it and wept. When she came to her senses, she was lying down, her head on Gwen’s shoulder, her face covered in tears and snot. She tried to pull away, but Gwen’s grip was firm.

“It’s okay.” Gwen held up a corner of her nightshirt. “Blow your nose. It’ll wash out.”

The absurdity of the situation made Loomis snort, an altogether messy proposition. Too dazed by her breakdown, she wiped her face with Gwen’s nightshirt.