by Jan Watson
Copper couldn’t get her mind around what he was saying. It was as if John were speaking in tongues. She looked to Brother Jasper for an interpretation.
“Do you need to sit down?” the preacher asked.
She swayed on her feet. John circled her shoulders with his strong arm, steadying her. “No . . . I’m all right, but what do you mean Lilly’s not here?”
“Remember I said I was going to send a message over the wire to my wife’s sister’s house to let her know about the train wreck? Well, I did, and then I waited and waited until I got the reply. She said Lilly didn’t meet the coach to go to the station with her and Kate.”
Copper felt a lightening of spirit. “This is wonderful! That means Lilly is all right.”
She watched Brother Jasper’s face for the news she needed to hear, but all she saw was consternation. “What?”
“I went by the house on my way here to see Lilly for myself. I hate like fire to tell you this, but she’s not there either.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know. I spoke to Miss Remy, and she said they hadn’t seen Lilly since day before yesterday.”
“But Lilly was going on the coach. Mrs. Jasper was going to look out for her.”
“I know,” Brother Jasper said. “I don’t know what to tell you about that except Kate’s jaw was swollen up big as a muskmelon that morning. She’d spent the night crying in pain, and her mother was desperate to get her to Cincinnati.”
“Is Kate all right?” Copper asked.
“The telegraph didn’t say. I’m going there after I leave here, but I had to see you and John first.”
“We appreciate it,” John said. “We could have been here for days yet.”
“What did the note say, John?”
“What note?”
“The one Manda left on the table. What was in the note?”
John scratched the top of his head. “Let me think. It was something like Mr. Morton came to the house for you, Copper—then something about Manda going to her sister’s—”
Copper shook his arm, interrupting. “Lilly. What did the note say about Lilly?”
“I don’t know the exact words, but I know the note led me to believe Lilly was on that coach.”
A great emptiness swept through Copper’s very being. She thought that finding Lilly’s broken body in the mass of twisted steel would be the worst thing she could ever face, but she’d been wrong. Having no body to find was worse. Losing a child to death would break your heart, but losing a child entirely would steal your soul.
Alice cornered the sheriff, taking over. “You’ll need to commandeer one of the relief trains. We need to get to Jackson as soon as possible.”
Copper looked at John. He read her eyes.
Tenderly he took Alice’s arm. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us. It would be best if you go home to wait. You’ll be more comfortable there, and I promise I’ll send word as soon as we know anything.”
Alice seemed to crumple at his touch. “Either way?”
“Either way,” he said.
Copper and Alice embraced for an awkward moment, but there were no words of sympathy. Copper knew the blaming went two ways. It was a time for forgiveness, but she couldn’t muster up the energy. It seemed Alice felt the same.
When Alice turned away, so did she. Alice could wait—for now Copper needed to focus on the long way home and what she might find on Troublesome Creek.
28
Lilly roosted like a homing pigeon atop the restacked boxes under the narrow window. Curiosity had overcome her fear now that the man was gone. She hadn’t dared to go to the open door yet, but she would. What she saw outside the high-up window was a complete surprise. There was a house with a big flat rock for a stoop and a weedy packed-dirt yard. The door to the house stood open, and there was no screen to keep out flies or mosquitoes. The house looked deserted, but there were a dozen or so rags pinned to a sagging wire clothesline, and a few chickens scratched about in the dirt.
A barefoot boy came out of the door swinging a bucket.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Tern!” she yelled before she thought. “Tern Still!”
She nearly fell off the stack of boxes when Tern whirled around to the sound of her voice. He held one finger to his lips and shook his head.
She ducked down. Everything started making sense. The reason she knew the beagle was because the dog belonged to Tern, who was the son of the man who stole her, who was the husband of Adie, who was the woman who died in the little house.
Boy, she was in big trouble. Mr. Still was mad at her family. He probably believed in an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Ping! Ping! She heard what sounded like pebbles hitting the tin siding. She peered out the window again.
There stood Tern trying to look like a man. “You ought not be hollering out that window.”
“Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“My pa’s the toughest man there is. That gives me rights.”
Lilly snorted. “Are you going to get me out of here or not?”
Tern jerked like he’d been hit with a rock, then put his finger to his lips again. He ran back to the stoop, where he’d left the bucket, snatched it up, and ambled around the side of the house.
Lilly soon saw why. A buckboard drew up in the yard. Mr. Still helped a woman who was holding a baby down off the seat. Several boys climbed out of the bed and raced each other to the house. “Last one in’s a rotten egg,” one yelled.
The old lady looked the same as she did when Lilly saw her the day they brought the coffin to the little house. Same stiff, black bonnet hiding her face, same black dress so old it looked rusty, same stooped, shuffling walk. Lilly’s eyes widened; she was coming her way. The shuffling continued until the lady reached the clothesline. With one hand she held the baby, and with the other she unpinned a square whitish rag. Mr. Still reached for the baby. The lady slapped his hand away.
“Ma,” he said, “I don’t know why you’re so het up.”
“You don’t know?” the grandma said, whipping at him with the rag. “You don’t know much, Isa Still. You’re just like your no-account daddy.”
“Don’t I take care of you the best I can considering the circumstances?”
“The circumstance is all I’m considering. Here’s the circumstance spelled out for ye. You stole a neighbor’s gal. She’s up there in that old building where your daddy kept his moonshine makings. The circumstance is that rotten shack could give way at any time—it ain’t fitting for occupation. That gal could be kilt, and then your circumstance would be setting in the county hoosegow.”
Lilly watched her pull the rags off the line. She was a little old thing, but she stood taller with every word. And with every other word, Mr. Still appeared to shrink. His neck retreated like a turtle’s until his hat seemed to be sitting on his shoulders.
“So what’s that do for my circumstance?” the lady said. “Why don’t you tell me that? Who you reckon’s gonna take care of all these young’uns whilst you’re toasting your toes on the county dole?”
Lilly jabbed the air with her fist each time the grandma made a point. “Take that,” she whispered. “Take that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t. Don’t I always say, ‘Talk it over with your ma before you do something stupid’? Don’t I always say that?”
“Yes. But there she was fishing my dogs out of the pond. There wasn’t time to ask you. Besides, weren’t nobody home but me and Tern. You was gone to your sister’s.”
Mrs. Still’s exasperated sigh sailed all the way up the tin siding and rushed through the narrow window. “It ain’t like I don’t know where I’ve been, boy.” She started hanging the rags again, like she forgot she’d just taken them down, punctuating each sentence with a thrust of a clothespin onto the rusty wire. “Here’s a nugget for ye. If you can’t talk it over, then just don’t do it!”
“I’m sorry. But you know how I’ve been stewing since Adie died. I finally just biled over.” Mr. Still’s voice dropped, and Lilly strained to hear. “Weren’t none of any of them Pelfreys’ business.”
“I know and I agree. But none of that was done in spite. Don’t you see that? Right or wrong, Miz Pelfrey was trying to help.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I believe this move of yourn is even more foolish than that skunk farm you had and probably harder to deal with.”
“But you liked that pretty cloak I made for you, right?”
“Isa, Isa. When am I ever going to have a need for a big-city costume?”
Mr. Still’s mouth spread in a big smile. “I’ll line your coffin with it.”
The grandma laid the baby on his back in a patch of grass. Expertly, she removed one diaper and applied another. Shaking her head, she smiled up at her son. “You know, that would be nice. Probably ain’t nobody hereabouts had nothing so fancy lining their oak-board overcoats. Sometimes you remind me why I fell so hard for your good-for-nothing pa.”
Mr. Still helped her up and then picked up the baby. Lilly could swear the old lady’s knees sounded loud as the rusty hinges on the short door.
“So what’ll we do about the girl?”
“Smart, is she?” Mrs. Still asked.
“I reckon so. She had a lever in there prying the bar offen the door.”
“Then I say we pack up and head out. They ain’t gonna let you off on a few sorrys. No matter your gift of gab.” Mrs. Still seemed to survey her surroundings. “I’m right tired of this place anyhow.”
“What about the girl?”
“If she’s as smart as you say, she’ll figure it out. Besides which they’re sure to find her sooner than later. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”
Mr. Still tapped the side of his forehead. “Probably because I threw them off the trail.”
“How so?”
“The girl’s hat was caught up in the weeds at the pond. Nearly gave me a stroke when I saw it. But then I set to thinking it over.”
“Chaw it slow and spit it out. We ain’t got all day for your pronouncements.”
“I figured I’d use that hat to confuse anybody looking for the girl, so’s I took it yon side of the creek and up past the churchyard. Left it right beside the road in plain sight.”
“Good thinking, Son. Sometimes you surprise me.” The old lady reached up and patted Mr. Still’s face. “Still, that won’t work for long. We’d best get out while the getting’s good.”
“When are you thinking?”
“Tomorrow. If they’d have been looking today, they’d already be here. For now, put Tern over by the rock fence. He’ll know if anybody’s a-coming, and we’ll light out like Snyder’s hound.”
“I’ll get the dog, then.”
“Isa, think! What do beagles do best? Track. Track and hunt. It’s liable to come right back here and then lead the law straight to you. Leave it be!”
“I reckon the girl can have it for her trouble,” he said. “But, man, I sure do hate to leave my fishing pond.”
“Ye can make another. Ain’t that hard. All it takes is a shovel and a strong back.” The old lady stacked the diapers across her shoulder and took the baby from him. “Ye got a shovel, don’t ye?”
Mr. Still didn’t seem to take offense at his mother’s retort. He just carried the used diaper pinched between two fingers and followed her across the yard.
Lilly was sorry to see them go. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was for somebody else’s words, even scary words, even scary words directed at her. At least she knew Mr. Still wasn’t going to snap her neck or drown her like he drowned the puppies.
Since she knew he wasn’t watching, she went to the open door. He really was as dense as his mother said if he thought she wouldn’t take the first chance she got to climb down that ladder. All she had to do was figure out how to take the dog and the puppy with her. Her hopes drained away when she saw the ladder lying on the ground. She was high up in the treetops. It was much too far to jump.
If they really left her here, could she ever escape? She needed to come up with a plan. But first she went to the hamper and took out the boiled eggs, the little waxed-paper twists of salt and pepper, and the red ripe tomato. The dog ate from Mr. Still’s greasy packet while tomato juice dripped down her chin.
A gloom settled over her. Why hadn’t her daddy come? Didn’t anybody even miss her? And why hadn’t her heavenly Father answered her prayers? She rinsed her hands and took the Bible off the table. At least she could memorize her Sunday school Scripture while she had the time.
Turning to 1 Peter, she read about being steadfast in difficult times. God promised there would be suffering only for a while and that the suffering would strengthen and settle you. She guessed she could remain steadfast through one more night if that was what God wanted her to do. She would bide her time until she knew the Stills were really gone, and then she’d get out of here one way or another.
She eyed the valise and then the dog. When Mr. Still put the ladder up before he left, she could put the dog in there and carry her down, then come back for the puppy. It was like a riddle waiting to be solved. The beagle put one paw on the grease-stained paper, anchoring it while she licked. She wanted to enjoy every last bit.
Lilly took the paper away. “You’re not a billy goat.”
The dog wagged her tail. Her brown eyes looked happy.
“Are you a happy girl?” she asked, scratching between the dog’s ears. “I think I’ll name you since it looks like you belong to me.” Lilly studied the dog’s face, searching for clues. “I think Steady would be a good name for a dog such as you because you have been so steadfast in your suffering.” The puppy lay sleeping like a fat little blob. “We’ll wait until your baby gets some personality before we pick a name. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
Lilly sat cross-legged on the pallet and lifted the puppy into her lap. Through the open door she could see storm clouds brewing in the distance. Thunder rolled across the far mountains, and a sudden breeze cooled the air. The old lady’s words came back to her like a portent of things to come: “That rotten shack could give way at any time. . . . That gal could be kilt.”
As she stroked the puppy’s soft ears, she thought of all the times her family had gathered on their tin-roofed porch to enjoy a summer storm. When Daddy John saw the first bolt of lightning strike or when the thunder boomers followed after another, he’d herd everyone into the house. She and Mama would draw chairs up to the screen door and listen to the rain tap-dancing on the roof. It was the safest place in the world.
The light outside the open door turned greenish black. Tree branches thrashed and scraped against the walls. Rain fell in dark sheets. Lilly settled one arm around Steady and one around the puppy. Was her mama on the porch looking to the mountains right this moment? Was she wondering where Lilly was? Were her tears falling like the rain?
Suddenly the door slammed against the facing. The wind shifted and sucked it back open like an unseen hand. Marble-size hail bounced across the floor before the door banged shut again. The hail ricocheting off the tin-walled hut was so loud Lilly couldn’t hear herself think. The puppy nuzzled her arm, looking for his mother.
Lilly bent her head. She’d never been so alone.
29
Darcy was right. Hardly anyone gave Manda a second glance as they walked to the dress shop. It was such a beautiful morning, and Manda was so excited to be there that she almost forgot her troubles.
Darcy twisted the key in the lock on the door and ushered Manda inside. Right in the middle of the room was a big oblong table where Darcy measured and cut the cloth to order. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held meticulously labeled bolts of fabric: serge, chev
iot, silk, velvet, ladies’ cloth, tweed, polished cotton, melton, kersey, and even beaver, among others. The fabrics were so varied and rich-looking, Manda wanted to wrap herself up in them.
The room was feminine but also serviceable with a seating area featuring delicate, curved-legged chairs under a crystal chandelier. Darcy’s desk was a Victorian writing table. Ferns like the one in Darcy’s parlor hung in the two windows that faced the sidewalk.
“You want folks strolling by to notice but not really be able to see inside. It gives the ladies shopping here some privacy,” Darcy explained. “Plus, the plants mute the light coming in. Sunlight devastates fabric.”
Manda wanted to touch everything. There were dozens and dozens of cards of buttons and frogs, yards and yards of lace, ribbon, braid, and gimp trims, so much it put the dry goods store at home to shame. A glass-topped display case held folding fans adorned with feathers, gloves with tiny pearl buttons, handkerchief cases, and ribbon bags.
“Take a look at these. I just got them in yesterday.” Darcy set a white cardboard box on the table and pulled back a piece of tissue paper. “This is a Russian appliqué collar. I ordered a dozen. Did you ever see anything so elegant? Of course you can’t tell how very beautiful it is until you remove the muslin foundation. See? It’s worked upon the wrong side. Imagine how tedious.”
Manda was afraid she might drool on it. “Who in the world could afford to wear these?”
“Anyone with a wealthy husband or old money,” Darcy said, holding one up to Manda and cocking her head. “These wide collars are not becoming to every figure, but this would look nice on you.”
“What if a customer wants it, but you think it doesn’t flatter?”
“Well, I try my best to steer the portly ladies to something else.” Darcy pulled another box from a stack of boxes on a long shelf under the table. “For instance, a vest and cuffs in point lace like these or perhaps a collar of dainty ribbon stock and bow.”
Holding the appliqué collar under her chin, Manda tilted a cheval glass and stared at her reflection. She looked like death warmed over. “But surely these are more expensive. Wouldn’t you make more money if you encouraged them?”
