William halted, following the line of her finger with his gaze. The blood drained from his face, and she felt a small and very petty sense of glee at seeing him so wrong-footed.
A moment later all sense of delight was gone when he said, “What is this devilry? More of your witchcraft?”
“No!” she said, holding up her hands in front of her body, as if to ward him off. “I didn’t do that. It was that creature—the bear. It followed me last night.”
She had to get his mind away from any thought of witchcraft. If she didn’t, then he might decide she was performing some spell to keep from getting pregnant, and he might kill her this time.
“How could a dumb animal do this?” William said, his voice made of ice and fury. “This is some vengeance of yours for last night.”
So you know it was wrong to leave me outside, she thought, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. She had to move him away from witchcraft.
“Look,” she said, crouching halfway to point at the deep gashes in the snow. “They’re claw marks. You can see they’re just like the marks on the trees we saw two days ago. I don’t think it’s just some dumb animal. There were all those strange bone piles in the cave, remember? It sorted them all. Normal animals don’t do that.”
William’s eyes moved from Mattie’s face to the symbols and back again. He was thinking about it, she could tell. She considered mentioning the animals tied to the trees—the ones she’d seen just before he’d knocked her out. She decided against it. If she interrupted his train of thought, he might find it was easier to conclude it was her witchcraft, after all.
“What could it mean?” he murmured.
She knew he wasn’t talking to her, didn’t expect an answer. She waited while he walked all around the symbols, bent down to peer more closely at them, ran his fingers over the gashes. Mattie wished he would hurry. Hunger gnawed at her, and she desperately wanted as much water as she could drink.
William stood up. “Go inside and wash yourself. You smell like the outhouse. Then make eggs and bacon for breakfast.”
Mattie hurried away, leaving him there to contemplate the markings in the snow. He’d have to get the eggs and bacon from the storehouse, which meant she’d have a few moments to herself.
The fire wasn’t lit when she entered the cabin, which meant she’d have to wash in cold water. Exactly as he meant for me to do. More punishment.
She took the jug of water from the table by the window, poured it into a basin, and carried the basin into the bedroom, careful not to slop water on the floor. William hated it when she did that.
What if he slipped on the water and got hurt? What if he knocked himself on the back of the head and wasn’t able to get up? You could throw him out in the snow and leave him there for the creature to find.
Mattie shook her head. No, she couldn’t do that. She didn’t want to hurt William. She only wanted to get away. She didn’t want to be hurt anymore.
(He did it to you. He left you out there in the snow to die.)
She had to stop thinking about it or he would see it on her face—her resentment, her anger. If he saw those things in her eyes then she’d never escape him. He’d make sure of it. He’d break her legs, starve her, watch her every moment of the day. So she had to be good and keep her head down and reveal no spark of rebellion.
And wait for my chance.
Mattie stripped off her trousers and shirt, soaked a cloth in the cold water, then wet her skin all over. As she did, she discovered new bruises—a band of screaming purple around her ribs, a swollen mass in her thigh, the clear outline of his knuckles near her belly button. She rubbed a sliver of soap every place, trying not to cry out when she touched a tender spot. Then she rinsed herself with the cloth.
She heard William stomp into the cabin, followed by the clatter of wood. He was building the fire for breakfast. She’d have to hurry.
Mattie wrapped her long braid around her head and pinned it. There was no time to wash her hair, which was thick and heavy and fell to her hips—William never allowed her to cut it. She pulled on her thickest woolen stockings, a flannel dress and a sweater over it.
She was shivering all over, desperate to get in front of the fire—even though she wouldn’t, strictly speaking, use it for warmth. William needed his breakfast, so she’d be near the fire to cook. Any benefit to her was incidental.
William had gone out again by the time Mattie returned to the main room carrying the washbasin. She arrived at the front door just as William returned. He put the eggs and a slab of bacon on the table and took the basin from her to dump outside. This wasn’t kindness to spare her an extra chore, she knew. It was because he was hungry and wanted her to start cooking.
Mattie quickly sliced the bacon, laid it in the pan, and slid the pan onto the metal grate over the fire. Then she scooped coffee grounds into the mesh basket of the percolator, added water to the pot, and carefully put the pot in the hot coals near the edge of the fire. It was then time to turn the bacon. When that task was done, she set out plates and forks and cloths for napkins. William returned just as she took the bacon out of the pan and put the plate of still-sizzling meat on the table.
She cracked the eggs into the bacon grease while William took off his boots. He sat down at the table and waited. Mattie pulled the perking coffee pot out of the coals, her hand wrapped in a towel so she didn’t burn it on the metal handle. She poured out William’s coffee, turned the eggs, and a moment later she was at the table holding the hot pan, scooping eggs onto their plates.
“Four for me, one for you,” he said.
Don’t rise, she thought. She didn’t say anything, even though she was so hungry she could have eaten everything on the table herself. She gave him four eggs, keeping the smallest one for herself, and didn’t complain when he ate the lion’s share of the bacon, either.
Keep your head down and wait for your chance.
“I’m going into town today,” he said.
She looked up in surprise. After leaving her in the woods she’d been certain he’d stand at her shoulder all day long, dogging her every move.
“You will not leave the cabin for any reason,” he said.
She nodded. This was a standard instruction.
“You may have half the remaining bread while I’m gone. No butter. No coffee or milk. Only tea.”
Mattie knew there was only about a quarter-loaf of bread left. He was saying she could have a slice or two for the remainder of the day.
So I’m to be put on prisoner’s rations, then.
“I may be gone into the night. It depends on how long it takes me to find what I need.”
This was the most surprising thing he’d said yet. William always went to town and returned quickly, well before sundown.
“What are you going for?” Mattie asked, then bit her lip.
William hated questions. He always said that if he wanted her to know something, he would tell her. She was certain he’d respond that way, in his frozen-river voice, but instead he was silent.
She risked a glance and found him staring at his empty plate.
Then he said, “That bear is no bear. It’s a demon come to earth.”
Mattie was shocked by this conclusion, but she didn’t respond. She’d already spoken once when she hadn’t meant to.
“Those bones in the cave, the markings in the snow—no animal behaves like that. It can only be a demon. And if it is a demon, then God sent it here to try me.”
Mattie realized something then, something she’d always been vaguely aware of but never able to fully articulate. William was insane. He believed, truly believed, that whatever was out there in the woods was a creature from the pit and that he had a holy mission to destroy it.
There were so many things about her life, about William, that she’d never seen clearly before. Every time she’d shown a spark
of spirit, William crushed it beneath his boot heel before she could think or question her circumstances. The only reason she was able to see him clearly now was because he’d left her alone to die, and therefore left her time to think for herself.
“I need traps,” he continued. “Traps big enough for a monster like that, and a rifle with bigger shot. And other things. They may not be easily available, so it may take some time for me to acquire them. You will not leave the cabin. You will not eat more than I have allowed you to eat. You will spend the day scrubbing every surface until it shines.”
“Yes, William,” she murmured.
Mattie would do whatever she had to do to lull him into believing she was as broken as she’d always been.
He shouldn’t have left me out in the woods.
That’s his mistake. Now you just have to make sure he pays for it.
CHAPTER SIX
Mattie cleared the plates from the table and washed them while William collected all the things he would need for the trip. He took his key ring and went into the bedroom, closing the door firmly. A moment later she heard the click of a lock and the sound of rummaging.
He’s gone inside the secret trunk, she thought as she took out oil and rags for cleaning. I need to know what’s inside there.
She was certain that he kept his money for buying supplies in the trunk, and she would certainly need money once she escaped. She couldn’t rely on the kindness of strangers—strangers who might know William, who might not believe her, who might deliver her back to him like a naughty child gone astray.
But how could she get into the trunk in the first place? William never left the house without taking the keys. There had to be a way to break the lock, but she wouldn’t be able to try until she was ready to leave forever. If William returned home and found Mattie there and a broken lock on his trunk then . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
When he emerged from the bedroom, Mattie was polishing the floor.
“Just where you belong,” he grunted.
She kept her head down, rubbing the oil into the hardwood. She sensed his sudden flare of interest, the same way a small animal senses the presence of a predator. Mattie knew he was thinking of the previous night, how she hadn’t been home for the nightly ritual to get sons on her.
Just leave. Just go.
She didn’t think she could bear it just then, didn’t think she’d be able to pretend she was pleased by his attention. After what seemed like decades but was probably only a few moments, William huffed out an impatient breath, pulled on his boots and said, “I’m leaving.”
He slammed the door behind him before she even had a chance to turn around.
Mattie spent the morning scrubbing and polishing every surface, not because she wanted to please William (as she might have before he locked her out of the cabin to die) but because it was only sensible to keep from angering him.
If he got angry, he would punish her. If he punished her, she would be weak. She wouldn’t be able to escape if she was starving or beaten half to death.
With one of the sudden bursts of insight she’d had so many times in the last day she realized this was exactly why William did punish her so often. It had nothing to do with her behavior. It was because if she was physically weak she couldn’t run away. Every beating took more of her heart away so that she wouldn’t have the guts to even try.
And every time he told her the memories of her life before were false, he narrowed her world to the mountaintop, the cabin, to him alone.
But I’m not going to stay. I’m going to find Heather. And Mom.
She wished she could remember their faces. She could see Heather if she tried hard, though the image was blurry—round cheeks, a nose covered in freckles, brown eyes with pretty flecks of gold in them, all framed by brown hair.
“Brown eyes,” Mattie murmured, her hand fluttering in the direction of her swollen eye. “Like mine.”
“Pretty little girl with pretty eyes,” she heard someone say, and it sounded like William, a younger William, a William she’d known long ago.
Mattie stopped, her heart pounding.
She’d remembered something—just a flash, not enough to grasp, to take out and examine.
William—he must have been in his late twenties, maybe thirty at most, at any rate much younger than he currently was. He sat across the table from Mattie, but it wasn’t their rough-hewn wood table in the cabin. This table was smooth and white and she was much, much smaller (though she’d never really gotten tall; she might still be mistaken for a child if you didn’t see her face).
Over William’s shoulder was a female figure in a yellow sweater with her back to Mattie (no, Samantha, I was Samantha then), a woman with the same dirty blonde hair as her own, except it was curly and ended in the middle of her neck.
Turn around, Mattie thought, turn around so I can see your face.
But the image slipped away, a cracked and broken thing, and she found herself on the floor weeping, unable to stop.
After a long while she made herself get up and finish her chores. By the end of it her whole body throbbed, but especially her left eye. The swelling seemed worse than the day before, and when she touched it she felt a great pouch of fluid pushing against the top of the eye socket.
I can’t run anywhere until this is better. I’m at a disadvantage with one eye. Especially with that monster out there.
She knew she couldn’t run with William gone to town in any case, though at first that might seem the best time. If she ran down the mountain while he was coming up she could run right into him. The idea of him catching her in the act of escape made her shudder. Who knew what punishment he might inflict if he found her in the woods trying to get away from him?
But trying to leave when he was at home wasn’t the best idea, either. Perhaps she could sneak out at night, when he was sleeping. She’d have to drop a bag of supplies out in the woods somewhere beforehand.
Mattie pressed her hand to the side of her head. She wasn’t sure how she would do it. There had to be some way, but she wasn’t up to considering all the options at the moment. Her eye needed some relief.
There were several long icicles dangling from the front eaves of the cabin. If she could reach one she might break off a piece and wrap it inside a cloth and press it on her eye.
But I mustn’t leave the porch because if I do William will see the footprints in the snow and then he’ll be angry.
Mattie didn’t care that he would be upset, not in the way she’d cared the day before. She only cared that he would hurt her, and if he hurt her she couldn’t escape from him.
She peered out the front window. It wouldn’t do to have him return and catch her breaking his edict. He’d said he would be gone until after dark, but he might only be testing her.
All appeared still and silent.
Mattie opened the door slowly, half-expecting William to stride out from behind a tree, his ice-chip eyes frosted over.
You’re still afraid of him. This was Samantha’s voice.
Yes, I am. I might always be, Mattie thought.
That was a hard and terrible thing to acknowledge, the idea that even if she managed to get away, that he would haunt her always—the boogeyman in the closet, the monster under the bed, the creature tapping at her window.
Tapping at her window. There was someone tapping at her window and she was rubbing her eyes and there was William, waving at her from the dark.
She stopped, frozen, feeling she was on the verge of understanding something very, very important.
Then she heard the voices. Male voices in the woods, approaching fast.
Oh, god, no, she thought, fleeing into the cabin and throwing the bolt. She hurriedly drew the front curtains and then did the same for the other two windows at the back of the cabin—one in the main room, one in the bedroom.
> Don’t come near. If William sees your footprints in the snow he’ll blame me and you’ll ruin everything, don’t come near, don’t.
She wasn’t strong enough to take another beating so soon after the last one, and she wasn’t strong enough to run away on her own yet, either.
Please leave, don’t come near, but of course she heard their voices draw closer and closer, closer and closer, until she could make out the words.
“Do you think your Amish girl lives here?” A man’s voice, young, full of laughter.
“I told you, she wasn’t Amish. It was just some dumb thing I said because their clothes were so old-fashioned.” This was the second voice, also young. And familiar. The stranger from yesterday.
“No, not him,” she breathed.
William had half-killed her because the man had looked at her. If he discovered that the man had actually come to their cabin door—and he would discover it, of this she had no doubt—he might actually kill her.
Kill her and find some other happy, pretty girl to grind beneath his boot, because a man needed sons.
No. No, I can’t let it happen to anyone else.
(If you can’t let it happen to anyone else then you’ll have to kill him, because if you run then he’ll find another girl. You know he will.)
“Go away, Samantha,” Mattie whispered. Her head hurt and her eye hurt and she was so terrified that the men outside would find her that she could barely suck in a lungful of air.
Please leave. Please go.
(But they might help you)
Or they might hurt me. They might be just like William. I can’t trust them. I can’t trust anyone.
She heard the clatter of their boots on the porch. Mattie backed away from the door, crouched down in the middle of the room, made herself into a tiny ball.
I could disappear if I wished hard enough. I could turn into a mote of dust.
A hard knock sounded at the door.
Near the Bone Page 8
