Orphan Maker (6 page)

Delia and Megan tittered, and Terry blushed. Gwen glanced at the little girls, seeing a knowing look. Obviously, Terry had been mistaken for a girl before, and it was a sore point.

“I ain’t a girl! I’m an Indian warrior!”

Kevin’s lip twisted into a sneer. “You ain’t nobody but a dumb cracker wannabe. You ain’t even the same color as a Indian.”

Risking a glance at Loomis, Gwen saw she was still mad, but didn’t interrupt. Instead she stood with her arms across her chest, watching them verbally duke it out. Would she intercede if it came to physical violence, or let them scrap until one of them won over the other?

Kevin looked Terry over in disdain. “Those ain’t even real moccasins. You made those, didn’t you?”

Terry frowned at his footwear. They were buckskin yellow with scuffed toes, and amateurish designs painted on them. “How do you know?”

“’Cause I seen real ones before.”

“Really?” Terry edged closer, his badass attitude quickly fading. “Where?”

No longer being challenged, Kevin also became less aggressive. “In a building in the city. My brother said it was a museum. It had lots of Indian stuff in it.”

Terry eyed him for a moment, gauging the veracity of his information. “You want to see my lodge?”

“I do!” Megan piped up.

“No girls allowed.” Terry hardly gave her a glance. He kept his attention on Kevin. “Well? Do you?”

Kevin affected nonchalance. “For shizzle.”

“Huh?”

“He means yeah,” Gwen cut in. When Terry looked directly at her, she realized that he shared a lot of Loomis’s features.

“Let’s go then.” Terry turned away, heading toward the pond.

“Be careful,” Loomis called after the boys. “Kevin’s been sick lately.”

Terry rolled his eyes at her, and Kevin mirrored the reaction before trotting after him on his tattered sneakers.

Once they were out of hearing range, Loomis said, “I think that went pretty well.”

“Kevin’s cool. He’s always in check.” Gwen watched Loomis purse her lips in confusion, and realized she would have to explain. “He’s in check. He doesn’t push buttons or rile people up.”

Loomis rubbed the side of her jaw. “If you say so.”

How can she irritate me so much with just a look or a word?
Gwen looked back at the cabin. “Is it just you guys then? ’Cause if you’re looking for a nanny, you can just keep looking. I didn’t come here to cook and clean and look out for your little brothers and sisters.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re here because you can’t make it on your own.” Loomis’s voice dropped to a husky growl. “You need cleaning and feeding first. After you’ve all regained your strength, we’ll discuss chores. Nobody rides for free, woman. Do you understand?”

Gwen looked around. Lucky stared at the table, affecting a passive stance as she bundled Oscar and held him close. The two girls watched with wide eyes, one set of blue and one brown. They were tense but not overly so, indicating that Loomis had a temper to match her hair color, but might not bite much. Still, it wouldn’t do to piss her off this soon. She returned her attention to Loomis. “I feel you.”

They stared at one another for a moment. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Loomis relaxed.

Gwen heard a door close and saw two more girls come out of the cabin. They were both maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. One had the Loomis coloring while the other was dark blond. She breathed a faint sigh of relief. At least she and Lucky wouldn’t have a mess of kids dumped on them. She smelled them before they got halfway to the picnic area. Both girls had their arms full, and Gwen’s mouth watered at the aroma coming from the steaming pot. The scent reminded her somewhat of oatmeal but had a nuttier undertone to it.

“This is Cara Chapman, my cousin, and Heather Elledge, Rick’s girlfriend.” Loomis relieved Cara of the fire-blackened pot. “This is Lucky and Oscar, and that’s Gwen. Kevin’s off with Terry.”

Cara gave Loomis a surprised look. “Really? I’m amazed. Terry can be a class A jerk.” She laid out a couple of hand towels for heating pads, waving Loomis to put the pot there. She held out her hand. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Gwen.”

Her palm was warm from handling the pan, and Gwen appreciated the welcome. “Thanks.”

While Cara shook Lucky’s hand, Heather set down a stack of bowls, spoons and a loaf of bread. “You want to go get the honey?”

Loomis started, caught in the act of licking her lips. “Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Gwen smiled at her discomfiture and turned toward Heather as she reached out her hand. Maybe living here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Gwen felt stuffed. She had eaten more in the last three hours than she had in three days, and her body was in shock. Despite the satisfied feeling of fullness, her intestines grumbled with gas, sharp pains digging at her abdomen in retaliation for the sudden onslaught. Whether her bland meal of porridge would have an end result of diarrhea remained to be seen. It probably wouldn’t be pretty.

When given the choice, she had opted for a shower rather than a bath. The Loomises had a contraption of black rubber hanging from a tree limb with a makeshift curtain around it. When she pulled on the rope, sun-warmed water rained down upon her. She had been given a crumbling cake of soap that smelled of herbs. It wasn’t a store brand, but it did the trick well enough. There was no shampoo, so she lathered up her hair with the bar and rinsed off. When the water ran out, she sighed in contentment.
Fuck, how long has it been since I’ve been clean?

Someone coughed just outside the curtain, and Gwen opened her eyes. “Who’s there?” She wrung out her hair.

Loomis answered. “Just me. I brought you some clean clothes.”

Gwen debated stepping naked out of the shower, but didn’t know if Loomis would think she was being a slut. The way Loomis disliked cussing, Gwen had a good idea that nudity wouldn’t sit well, either. Instead, she poked her head out from the curtain and grabbed the towel hanging from a hook attached to the tree.

Loomis stood a few feet away, a pile of folded clothing in her arms. “Don’t have much in the way of shoes for you, but those boots you have should do fine for now.”

Clean and fed, Gwen couldn’t help an impish grin. She casually allowed the curtain to remain open just enough for Loomis to get a good view as she dried off. No one else could see, and Loomis’s vivid blush made Gwen chuckle. The woman turned quickly to one side, her throat working as she swallowed. Did she find the display intriguing or just embarrassing? Gwen’s humor faded as she took stock of her body. Her ribs were visible against her skin, and her limbs achingly thin. Hardly the dime piece she used to be. Abruptly discomfited by her appearance, she wrapped the towel tightly about her torso. “Where should I get dressed?”

“Uh, in there’s good.” Loomis still wouldn’t look at her. “Might want to wait on the socks until you get onto dry land.” She thrust the clothing blindly in the direction of the shower.

Playfulness returned to Gwen. She was tempted to force Loomis to look at her by staying just out of reach, but was still troubled by her scrawny countenance. Giving the woman a break, she took the clothes. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “I’ll see you at the summer kitchen.”

“Okay.” Gwen watched Loomis walk away. Was she stepping just a little faster, running instead of going somewhere else to give Gwen privacy? Gwen had to admit Loomis made for a hell of a rear view even if she wore baggy pants. Forcing her mind out of the gutter, she shook out the clothes she had been given—shapeless gray pajama bottoms and a blue T-shirt. These people certainly needed a lesson or six in fashion and style. Sure, she hadn’t been much into bling-bling like some others, but this crap was lame beyond reason even for her.

Dressed, she stepped down from the low shower platform, clutching a pair of gray knitted socks. She liked the feel of cool mud on the soles of her feet. Eying the rubber bladder overhead, she wondered if she would be required to refill it. The task looked easy enough to do with the lowering mechanism, but water was heavy. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to hoist the thing back into position. Since Loomis hadn’t told her otherwise, Gwen left it alone. She wasn’t about to muscle the thing to the creek and back. Loomis had said they would regain their strength, and then they would talk about chores.

Chores. The word was something her ’rents had used with regularity. It was synonymous with washing dishes and cleaning the bathroom. Gwen had hated cleaning the bathroom. Considering these people used an outhouse, she imagined the job entailed a lot more than squirting cleanser and swishing it around the toilet bowl. How did you clean out a hole in the ground? Her feet were tender from both the sandals she had worn when leaving the city, and the developing blisters from the new boots obtained along the way. She scooped up the boots, remaining barefoot even though she minced when she walked over uneven ground. Maybe she could talk that kid, Terry, into making her a pair of moccasins. They might not look like the “real thing” but they appeared comfortable.

Lucky, Heather and the little girls still sat at the picnic table, though Lucky looked damp around the edges from her bath. The children babbled about something or other, and showed off their toys. Lucky nursed Oscar. Gwen knew Lucky’s milk was drying up. Soon they would have to find some other way to keep the baby fed, or Oscar would die. She hadn’t seen any cows here. Maybe one of the other townies had milk to spare.

The summer kitchen was a roofed structure over a slab of concrete. It had no walls. Sheets had been strung up in one corner to give Kevin some seclusion while he bathed. Terry sat at the edge of the makeshift divider, apparently keeping up a running conversation with the boy on the other side. It seemed they had struck up a friendship after all, and Gwen was glad. Kevin had been lost when his big brother had died.

Loomis swept up a pile of matted hair. While Gwen showered, Kevin had gotten his haircut. Sitting on a chair by a worktable, Rick sharpened the biggest pair of scissors Gwen had ever seen, stropping the edge against a length of leather. At the other end of the table sat a collection of fresh vegetables. Cara stood at the stone fireplace, stirring a pot of something that smelled wonderful. Despite being full to bursting, Gwen’s mouth watered at the aroma.

“You want a haircut, too?” Rick grinned, snipping at her with those giant scissors.

“Not with those.” She pulled her wet hair to one shoulder so she could hold it securely. “What are those? I ain’t never seen them that big.”

“Sheep shears,” Loomis answered. “They’re about the only thing that’d cut through that boy’s mop.”

“You use those on the sheep?” Gwen moved closer, looking over the tool. Rick gave it to her, and she hefted it in one hand.

Loomis finished her cleanup and leaned the broom against a post. “Yeah. Every spring we shear the sheep for wool.”

“Those socks you’re carrying are made from it.” Cara sat at the table and began slicing a potato.

Gwen squeezed the rolled material. “Someone actually made these? By hand?” It boggled her mind. The corpse of their parents’ society lay at their feet, overflowing with whatever they wanted or needed, and these people made their own socks. And the yarn to knit them! The last thing she remembered making was an ashtray in her eighth grade art class.

Loomis sensed her dismay. “Well, we don’t have the luxury of supermarkets or strip malls out here. Things wear out, and we make do with what we’ve got.” Her tone was sour, as was her expression. Rick didn’t respond, but Cara raised an eyebrow.

Is she stupid?
Gwen wondered, anger flickering at the edges of her heart.
Does she really think all we did was hang out at the malls, and not even try to survive on our own?
The woman needed to put in check.
She might be all high and mighty out here in the sticks but she doesn’t know shit.
“Don’t rip me a new asshole because my ’rents died in the city.”

“Wh—what?” Loomis asked, incredulous.

Gwen stepped closer and glared up at her. “I’ve been through gang wars that’d make you piss your flabby pants. I’ve had friends and cut buddies bleed to death in my arms. I’ve walked over a hundred miles to get here, and I’ve passed through a lot of small towns just like this one. The only reason you townies are doing so well is luck. Nothing else.”

“Luck?” Loomis’s hazel eyes snapped. “It took more than luck, missy! We worked our butts off to survive this long.”

“A lot of people did, and a lot of people died anyway. That doesn’t make you better than me, dawg. It just means you had the better breaks.”

Loomis scoffed, not believing her.

As much as Gwen wanted to look at the others and gauge their responses, she didn’t. She had to stand up to Loomis on her own, and let her know she wasn’t going to roll over like Lucky or Kevin might. Powerful people only respected power. If Gwen was ever going to have a chance at gaining that esteem, she had to show her strength now. “Don’t you feel me? There’s dozens of towns between here and the city. This is the first one I’ve seen that wasn’t empty or didn’t have starving kids.”

“Wait,” Rick cut in. “What about Cascade? That’s the next county over. There’s got to be kids there.”

Gwen shook her head, still looking at Loomis. “No, at least none we saw. We were there a couple of days ago, and didn’t see anybody.”

“Nobody?” Loomis still looked skeptical.

“Nobody.”

The argument had drawn an audience. Lucky and the others had left the picnic table, and Kevin peeked through the makeshift curtains, his closely cropped hair making him look much younger.

“She’s right.” Lucky timidly cuddled Oscar. “If there was anybody there, they went into hiding.”

Gwen jumped back into the argument before its momentum could be lost. “And from what I saw, Cascade was bigger than Lindsay Crossing. They had better pickings and the brains to farm like you ‘folks.’ So where the hell are they?”

Loomis scowled but didn’t respond, at a loss for an answer.