“Your hunch.” Cecily smiled widely at Joe’s self-deprecating remark. “That this body, this poor man they found, could be one of the robbers from years ago.”
“Well, it’s only a possibility, mind you. But I’m a big believer in trusting my nose, my instincts. For example, this van that was stolen . . . such bad luck for Nate.”
“Oh yes. I saw Susanna in the shop just this morning. She told me Nate was apoplectic about it. She worries about him a lot—his health, you know. She doesn’t like to see him stress so much.”
“I can understand that.” He smiled. “My wife used to worry about me a lot too.” A wave of sadness passed over his face. “I was a lot older than she. I always thought I’d be the first to go. But I guess life is like that. What you think is going to happen never does, and then life hits you with a curveball. She was the one to go first.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Joe. You must miss her very much.”
Joe nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s been a lot of years now, but it still comes to me every now and then, what a hole it’s left in my life. I can understand why Nate’s wife worries about him. He has a very stressful job, and stress takes its toll. He’s not a young man anymore. He has to be careful, and that was a tremendous blow to his investigation.”
“Oh, I know!” Cecily breathed. “The technicians managed to dust for fingerprints, but they never had a chance to really search the van before it was stolen. That’s why Nate was so upset. Susanna said Nate had a suspicion there might have been something in that van the murderer was looking for. That’s why he was so fit to be tied.”
Joe shook his head. “Terrible.” Joe poured another glass for himself and for Cecily. “Nate’s such a hard-working guy, but he’s subject to the inefficiency of another jurisdiction. It’s too bad Snowflake doesn’t have its own crime lab.”
“I don’t think our little village is big enough to warrant something like that. That’s why we have to rely on Lincoln Falls for all those services.”
“Well, I think Snowflake is one of the most charming places I’ve visited in a long time.”
“You do?”
Joe nodded. “In fact, I plan to say for a little while longer.” He hesitated and leaned closer. “Don’t say anything to anyone just yet. You’re the only one I’m confiding in, but I’m thinking of selling my house in Bennington. It’s too big and lonesome for me there with my children all grown up and gone, and my wife too. I just rattle around all day when I’m home. I’d like to sell that house and look for a small cottage somewhere in Snowflake.”
Cecily could already picture a future dinner date with Joe, perhaps many such evenings. “Oh,” she gushed, “that would be wonderful. You would love living in Snowflake!”
“I’m sure I would.” Joe reached across the table and gently touched her hand. “In fact, I know I would.”
Chapter 36
MIRIAM WAITED NEAR the entrance to the corn maze, now shut down for the night. The smaller children had been taken home, tucked up safely in bed by their parents. All except her child. Nothing changes when they grow older and bigger, she thought. Nothing changes at all. The same piercing of the heart when harsh words are spoken, when that child rejects a parent’s love and concern. She remembered Millie, her husband’s mother, teaching her to read. Millie didn’t stop with schoolbooks and everyday fiction. She had been a teacher in her younger years and made up her mind that Miriam must be thoroughly educated. They had read Shakespeare together. At first it had been very hard for Miriam to extract meaning from the Bard’s English, but after a while the words came much more smoothly along with comprehension of the levels of meaning beneath the words. It was King Lear that came to her now. “How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.”
She had carried her burden of guilt for the past eighteen years, the burden of telling lies to a daughter she loved more than life itself. But what should she have done? Told the truth at some point as that daughter grew? Many times she had been tempted, but she had been fearful her confession might break the bond between her husband and her daughter. A bond she herself cherished and had no desire to injure. And the interminable questions that would eventually come. Where are you from? Who are your parents? Where did you live? How did you live? It wasn’t until she had joined normal society, a world in which everyone lived in houses, everyone that counted, that she became ashamed of her own people. She wanted to escape the oppression of a society dominated by men like her father, with rules that would coerce her to marry a man she didn’t love and separate her from the man she did—a man who ultimately betrayed her and abandoned her.
She watched him now, onstage, so confident, so happy. A tidal wave of anger threatened to overwhelm her. He had found her. He had left that forget-me-not in an envelope for her to find in her own mailbox. How could he? And how did he know about Janie? He must have seen her somewhere. Followed her. Watched the house. Must have seen who came and went. One glance at Janie and he would know she was his daughter. Had he ever married? she wondered. Had he fathered other children? If so, why torment her now, after all this time? Let him leave this child alone.
Coming here was her last resort. She had spent hours at the police station with Nate, going over everything she could possibly tell him. Everything except the real reason that she and Janie had fought. Whatever happened, she did not want her history to be public knowledge. If only Janie would see reason, would come home to her, they could work it out. Miriam would convince Janie that no one would ever have to know she was conceived out of wedlock, that her parents were travelers, that her father still was.
Eamon must have taken her. What other explanation could there be? Had he become a domineering male as her father had been? Janie would never have done this to her, disappeared without a word to a friend or a phone call to her job. Whatever harsh words had passed between them, Janie loved her, of that she was certain. Janie might be angry, but she had to hope there was a way to work this out.
The last song ended. The crowd had been thinning as the musicians played. A woman held a stand-up bass. She played lightning fast, her bow flying over the strings as the banjo beat a fast tempo. Miriam watched the people onstage closely. With a shock she realized the woman was Eamon and Taran’s sister, Deidre. At first she hadn’t recognized her, but they had been close as girls, had played together as children. How the years had changed her! It was a hard life staying on the road, being in fear of arrest, not always able to find medical or dental care. Miriam glanced down at her manicured nails, her perfectly cut hair, her expensive clothing, expensive to them at least. What would they think of her if she came forward? If she decided to reveal herself? She imagined the shock she would see in their eyes. But perhaps they already knew she was here in Snowflake. Perhaps Eamon had told them.
She tried to imagine how it would feel meeting them face to face again. Then she quickly dismissed the idea. She had no desire to speak to any of her former family. There was only Janie for her now. Janie was her family, not these strangers who sang in an almost forgotten language, a Gàidhlig she herself had spoken years before.
She had to know if Janie was with them, if Eamon had taken her. Was it possible that, out of curiosity, Janie had gone to see her father? But Miriam couldn’t imagine how that could be.
The musicians were packing up their instruments, winding up cords and moving equipment across the stage. Miriam walked around the far side of the pony corral and skirted the edge of the stage, keeping well away so that no one would notice her. She reached the area behind the stage and close to the trees where the vans were parked. She had to pick her moment carefully. Coming here was a very long shot, but she had no other place to search for her daughter. She heard voices calling, and she quickly stepped behind a large tree trunk. She was desperate to find Janie, but first she needed to make sure Janie was not already with them. A woman she didn’t recognize descended the short stairway from the backstage area and approached one of the vans.
She unlocked the rear doors and pulled them open, then returned to the stage.
Eamon came down the stairs next, carrying an amplifier in one hand. He was still tall and strong, but she had seen streaks of gray in his hair highlighted by the stage lighting. He loaded the amp into the rear of the van and stepped away.
Miriam called his name. He turned, looking all around. She stepped out into the moonlight and waited. He froze, instantly alert. She knew he had recognized her.
He hurried toward her. “Morag!”
Miriam backed away, terrified to allow him to come any closer.
“Morag. I knew you’d come.”
Miriam turned away and walked farther into the field. Eamon followed. Her emotions were a jumble. A tornado was ravaging her insides.
“Morag, speak to me. Please,” he pleaded.
She felt as if a hand had closed around her throat. She wasn’t sure she would be able to speak. She swallowed with difficulty. “My name is Miriam now.” She watched him carefully. He continued to stare at her. “How did you find me?” she finally asked.
Eamon took a few steps closer. “It was by accident.” His voice was so low she could barely make out the words. “We were driving through town. I saw you coming out of a shop. I couldn’t believe my eyes.” He drank in the sight of her. They stood, staring at each other like strangers.
Miriam thought her heart would stop. She was paralyzed. Her heart was racing. “My name is Miriam now.” She repeated it, as if it would give her strength. Her voice was cold. How dare he threaten to break through the defenses it had taken her years to build?
Eamon stood in the silvery moonlight, silent. In the distance she could see movement around the vans. Soon they would be looking for him.
“Have you taken her?” Miriam demanded.
Eamon stared at her. He was silent for a moment. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“My daughter!” she cried. “Have . . . you . . . taken . . . her?”
“What? No!” he shouted. “What’s happened? Where is she?”
“That’s what I need to know. For God’s sake, Eamon. If you have an ounce of compassion in your heart, tell me the truth.” Miriam felt hot tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Oh, Morag!” He moved closer, aching to put his arms around her and comfort her. He felt as if his chest had broken apart. “Thoir mionnan air mo bheatha. I swear on my life, Morag. I have not, nor would I. I knew the moment I saw you . . . and her. I knew she was our daughter. I could never harm a hair on her head.”
“You were watching her,” Miriam said accusingly.
Eamon took a deep breath. “I have. That’s the truth.” One look at the girl and he knew she was of his blood. His and Morag’s. “I wanted . . . I don’t know . . . to see her, to hear her voice. It broke my heart, Morag. I never knew. Please forgive me. I never knew.”
“That day . . . that you didn’t come. I didn’t know myself until a few months later.” Miriam pulled her jacket closer, protection against the evening chill, protection from him. “What difference would it have made if you knew? You abandoned me. What matter that I was pregnant?” There. She had said it. It was small satisfaction for all the times she had alternately cursed him and loved him in absentia. She had never dreamed the day would come when she would have the chance to face him and accuse him. All the longing and heartbreak she had felt for years threatened to overwhelm her. He had left that flower for her. How could he be so cruel as to tear that wound open again?
“I never did. Miriam.” He struggled to use her name. “I never abandoned you.”
Before she could quell the rush of emotion, she cried, “You never came! I waited. For days I waited. You left me there.”
“No. No. It wasn’t like that. They kept me at the camp that day. I was like a wild man. I fought them, but there were too many of them. They were so sure you’d come back if they held me prisoner. They never thought . . .”
“That I wouldn’t return?” She finished his thought.
He nodded dumbly. “Please believe me, Morag . . . I’m sorry. Miriam. I loved you then, and I love you still. I would never have left you out there on your own. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me? My life was taken from me as well.” Her silence was a stone in his heart. “I searched for you everywhere. Every town, every village. Every time we broke camp. There was never a time I traveled through a place and didn’t look for you, didn’t ask if anyone had seen someone of your description. They made a terrible mistake. They realized it eventually. Everyone wanted to find you, to bring you back.”
“I would never have gone back to them. Never! I would have killed myself before I . . .”
Eamon fell silent. Miriam could see the lines etched into his face, the gray hair at his temples. He was still a fine-looking man, but he had aged. The life had aged him. Perhaps sadness had aged him.
“It’s all different now. Not the same family you left. I’m head of the clan now.”
“You?”
“Yes.” He smiled slightly. “The man who would have left it all behind for a life with you.” He searched her face. “Have you had a good life? Are you happy?”
She hesitated. “I have had a life at least. A real life.”
Eamon stepped closer. Close enough that Miriam could smell the warmth of his skin. Memories were flooding through her mind, as if the door she had closed and locked years before had burst open.
“How long has she known about me?”
“Not until a few days ago. I told her. That’s why she won’t speak to me.”
“She’s been with the woman from the restaurant. They came to see me. But you say she’s not there now?”
“They went to see you? Where? At your campsite?” Miriam asked.
Eamon nodded in response.
“Something’s happened to her, then.” Miriam struggled against the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. “I don’t believe she’s run away again.”
“We’ll find her. Everyone will help.”
“No. Not them. I’ll find her.” She turned away.
Eamon grasped her arm. “Wait. Please.”
Miriam pulled her arm away and stared at him.
“You’re as beautiful as the day I first fell in love with you.”
Something inside her melted, a part of her that had been cold for a very long time. She felt a sob rise in her chest. She struggled to breathe. “Stay away from me.” She turned and ran across the field, toward the parking lot and escape. Eamon called after her, but she didn’t turn back.
Chapter 37
ALL THE JACK-O’-LANTERNS around the room were flickering as if tiny spirits lived inside each pumpkin. The room felt alive with unseen energies. Jack had put a CD in the player, and a soft clarinet solo filled the room. Lucky had turned off all the lamps but one and poured two mugs of chamomile tea hoping it would help them relax and give them a few quiet moments before each headed home.
Jack’s phone started to ring. He fumbled in his pocket to retrieve it and squinted at the caller ID. “Can’t see a thing,” he grumbled. He hit the button a moment before the call would have gone to voicemail.
Lucky heard a man’s voice on the phone. “It’s Nate,” Jack whispered.
“Oh!”
“No. Sorry, Nate. Nothing new at our end.” Jack paused. “I see. No. I don’t like the sound of that either.”
Nate’s voice was audible but garbled. “Good night.” Jack clicked off.
“What’s happened?” Lucky asked.
“They found Janie’s car this afternoon. They’ve towed it to the police station. Nate’s not trusting the impound lot after what happened to the van.”
“Where?”
“In the parking lot of the Harvest Festival.”
“Do you think Janie could have gone to her father?” Lucky asked.
“No idea.”
“I can’t see why she would do that. She had such a negative reaction when she saw him onstage at the festival.�
�� Lucky thought for a moment. “Do you think her father could have taken her against her will? There were a lot of people at that encampment. And we know they have guns—shotguns at least.”
“That’s not as sinister as it sounds. They probably need them for hunting, for food.”
“I guess.” Lucky sighed. “I just wasn’t thrilled to see one aimed at us. I just can’t imagine how they live, even if they do hunt wild game in the woods. Where do they get money to buy all the other supplies they’d need for a life on the road? Surely having a short stint at a festival like ours wouldn’t pay them that much.”
“Those men can do all sorts of odd jobs, day labor, that type of thing. They arouse a lot of suspicion because of some bad apples, but I’d say most of ’em are decent. They’re not all out to bilk people.”
“What about the guy Joe’s been chasing?”
Jack shrugged. “Joe could be right. Who knows? Maybe a traveler was involved in that robbery years ago. And maybe that’s the dead man Nate found by the side of the road. We just don’t know. It’s a lot of maybes. But I can tell Joe’s one of those men who are like pit bulls. Persistent. Just can’t let go of the one case he couldn’t wind up.”
“Miriam told me that her family . . . clan, whatever they call themselves, are from Cape Breton originally. She grew up speaking Gaelic. Their own dialect of Scottish Gaelic. Can you imagine that, Jack?”
“Oh sure. If they’d stayed isolated from other Gaelic speakers for generations, the language would change, grow into something else. They’d have to speak English for sure and undoubtedly French or at least Québécois if they move through Quebec a lot. They’d have to, just to get by. But they maybe can’t read or write a word of it.”
“And that’s another thing. How can they get across the borders if they don’t have real identification?”
A Roux of Revenge Page 18
