The night before, Adah had gazed down on Daisy and stroked her hair. A sleeping child struck her as the most innocent of beings, a willow in the wind, at its mercy. Daisy’s hair was even softer than her skin. Her eyes fluttered under her lids, and Adah could feel life thrumming inside that small body. Was this what people saw when they talked of the miracle of life?
She had no time to ponder such things; she had to focus all her energy on succeeding. She had to set a fire to start slowly in a woodpile down at the still. She hoped to be able to get back to the house and in her bedroom before the fire reached the dynamite and the blast sounded. Jack’s idea about lighting one side of a woodpile and leaving the dynamite on the other side still seemed the best option.
But what if the fire didn’t catch and reach the dynamite? What if she had to go back and restart it again and again? Every time she left the house posed a risk of exposure, and each time she approached the still, she could be walking up at the same moment the explosion occurred, just as Jack feared. She could be hurt or killed, certainly found out. She remembered being watched when she went out to the barn the night Daisy slept there. She had to hope that the fire would catch on her first try and the explosion would happen at just the right time. And she had to wait for a really rainy day and then wait again for it to stop, leaving the woods damp.
Now, in the fields, she closed her eyes and tried to play out the hoped-for scene in her mind. Buck and Jesse would jump out of bed when they heard the explosion. Of course the dogs would be barking wildly, and then the men would think immediately of the still. They would panic, thinking that others would have heard the explosion and be on their way to investigate or help. They would rush to the still to hide the evidence of their moonshining, probably tossing things into the creek. They would be far away and so caught up in getting rid of the debris that they wouldn’t notice Daisy and Adah leaving the house and heading for the road. But would they ask Adah to help them? What would Mabel do?
And then there was the matter of escaping. She would have to wait for the perfect day, then go and ask Jack to meet Daisy and her down the road a ways at a guessed-upon time, then pick them up and take them to the docks. So Jack’s face would be the last one she saw before disappearing. This she had to accept, mournful as it was. Yet desire for him ran through her veins during the day and kept her awake at night.
And what if a fire started anyway and got out of control? Her mind conjured up ghastly images. It bothered Adah not a bit to think of all the buildings burning to the ground, not even the house, but she didn’t relish injury to any person or creature, including the Branches and the farm animals. And what if the fire spread to other farms?
Adah pushed her hair off her forehead and concentrated as she worked. Even the air felt different—the featherlike wind had a charged feel, a combustible quality to it. Now that she knew Betsy had been trying to get Daisy away from the Branches, Adah was even more determined to make that happen. In addition to saving Daisy, she would also be fulfilling the wishes of Daisy’s dead mother. It gave her renewed determination. Betsy had died a violent death because she had wanted to leave with Daisy. She had failed. Now Adah would succeed for her.
As her mind swirled with the details of her escape, she also came up with a plan to make the Branches think that leaving was the last thing on her mind. They needed to believe that her fervent goal was to get Lester’s farm back and stay nearby. It worked to her advantage for them to believe she was taking extra interest in tobacco cultivation, and so she asked questions, even those she already knew the answers to. She pretended to be teaching herself about successful farming, as if she hoped to be running a farm on her own at some time in the future.
One night over supper, while everyone ate in silence after a very hot day out in the fields for all of them except Mabel, Adah asked out of the blue, “When will Lester’s estate go to probate?”
They all startled at her sudden question, but Adah looked at Mabel first because her face was the one that usually revealed the most.
The woman paled and stopped eating for a moment, her eyes on Adah like a cornered animal peering at a predator about to pounce. Then just as quickly she darted her eyes toward her husband.
Buck wiped fried chicken grease from his mouth with the back of his hand, even though there was a napkin in his lap. He gave Mabel an almost indecipherable nod as if to say Remain calm. Then he set a hatred-filled stare on Adah. “We ain’t heard nothing about no probate. Not even sure what you’re talking about.”
Liars. Esther Heiser had told Adah they were awaiting the probate date. “Probate,” Adah said and touched both corners of her mouth with her napkin, then lifted her chin. “I’ve been told it’s what happens when someone dies without a will. We have to go to something called probate court, before a judge or someone like that. I’ve been told it will spell out how much of the farm is mine.”
Buck took a bite of chicken and then dropped the drumstick on his plate. “Like I said, we ain’t heard nothing about no probate.”
“Who you been talking to?” Jesse chimed in.
Buck shot him a look that said Keep your mouth shut.
Instead of answering Jesse, Adah just shrugged and tried to act the part she’d cast for herself. She couldn’t arouse suspicion; she couldn’t let anything show. Everything depended on that. Poker face. They had to believe she wasn’t thinking about leaving.
She said, “I guess I’ll have to find out myself.” Funny how at one point in time she had truly wanted to see a lawyer and hadn’t wanted the Branches to know about it. Now it suited her purposes to have them think she would see an attorney, even though she had no intention to do so. “Guess I’ll have to go see a lawyer about it.”
Silence reigned again for a moment, and the tension in the air was like a noxious fume. “You do that,” Buck eventually said while shooting a satisfied smile at Jesse.
His expression stilled Adah and dried her mouth. What was the smug smile about? Did they already have an attorney lined up to fight her? Did they have what they thought was a foolproof plan?
She forced herself to breathe in deeply. It no longer mattered. It mattered only that the Branches believed she intended to stay here and fight them, when in truth she was going to escape and do nothing of the sort.
When she saw Jack next, she told him she’d found the still. He just stood there quietly, a look of resignation washing over his face. Then he walked inside and came back holding a gun. It was so small it looked like a child’s plaything.
“What have you done?” she asked, searching his face. “I thought you were going to get me a stick of dynamite.”
“I will, but first things first.” He met her gaze, and she found something of a plea inside it. But he matter-of-factly said, “I told you I was going to get you a gun.” Without waiting for her protests, he said, “This is a Colt 1903 .32 caliber—an older model of what’s still being made today. It’s perfect for carrying in your pocket or a purse.” He held it out to her. “It’s not loaded. We’re going to get to all of that later, but for now, just get used to the feel of it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I see you’ve made a decision for me. And I don’t like it.”
Jack was acting as if he had something important to do and there was no chance anyone would stop him. “Take it. How could it hurt to have it just in case? Think of it this way: it might save not only your life but Daisy’s, too.”
Conceding his point, Adah studied the pistol. It was only about seven inches long, not even one inch wide, and about four inches tall. “It looks light.”
“It’ll be heavier with the magazine in.”
Her gaze shot up. “What’s a magazine?”
“It holds the bullets.” He paused. “I know you have no experience with guns.”
She heaved in a hot breath. Every day the surreal quality of her current life was starting to feel more and more normal. “No experience whatsoever. I never thought . . .”
Jack, looking dete
rmined, continued: “The advantage to this gun is its size and ability to be concealed. But it’s a classic, too, used by the police and even the army. It’s a simple gun, easy to fire.”
Adah made a closer inspection and then took it from him in one hand. It fit.
He added, “You might find it interesting that Bonnie Parker used one of these to break Clyde Barrow out of jail, and John Dillinger had one on him when he was shot by FBI agents.”
She let out a tight sigh. “Yes, those are people I aspire to emulate.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Just thought I’d try to make you smile.”
She shrugged. “Smiling is rather out of my realm right now. Sorry.”
His face fell. “Alrighty, then.”
Inside the barn and out of sight, he showed her how to handle the gun, load the magazine that held eight rounds into the butt, retract and release the serrated slide, and apply and release all three safeties. He gave her all sorts of safety instructions. Then they went into the woods, where she could practice shooting at a tree.
Jack showed her how to hold the gun with both hands and how to aim, coming up behind her and resting his right arm on hers, and then his hand on her hand, checking her hold on the gun. “Then you squeeze,” he said. But her fingers suddenly lacked strength as she focused on Jack’s darker, tanned arm alongside her paler, creamier one. His hand fit over hers like a clamshell protecting the life it held inside.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “What about the shots? People will hear.”
Jack’s breath was warm on her neck. “They’ll think someone is out hunting or practice shooting. I doubt anything will come of it, and you have to practice. Try to hit it about five feet up from the ground.”
She took her first shot. She didn’t hit the center of the tree trunk, but she did hit it. And she took a few more shots until she had satisfied Jack.
He said, “I knew you had it in you.”
Adah had to suppress a smile. “I’m not sure how to take that.”
“Let’s just say you did well.”
Shrugging off an awful feeling, she said flatly, “Maybe I’m a natural.”
He told her to trigger the safeties; then he gave her a full magazine to load, and she slipped the gun into her apron pocket.
Her apron felt heavier, but not remarkably so.
By that time the forest seemed to be closing in and the air was steamy. Perspiration gathered on Adah’s upper lip. They slowly worked their way out of the woods and walked back to the house, where Adah waited while he went indoors to retrieve a basket of dirty laundry.
She stood on the grass in front, and he came down the porch steps as if he was weary, as if something was weighing heavily on him. As she was preparing to leave, he said in a low-pitched, worried voice, “Where will you go?”
Adah was already backing away. The last thing she had wanted was to hurt this man. There was a silent, gentle wind that day, no sounds except for the occasional cry of a hawk overhead and the whizzing of insects in the air around her. She could hear her feet crunching on the dry ground, and it might as well have been the sound of her bones breaking. She barely eased out, “I don’t know.”
He looked slapped. “Or you don’t want me to know.”
Adah gazed down at her feet and then up to the sky, searching for someone, something. If only the ghost of Betsy Branch would appear and help her or bless her.
“It’s better if you don’t.” Her eyes back on Jack, she said, “If by chance the Branches decide to report what I do to the police, they’ll question everyone I talked to. You’re a customer of mine. They’ll try to find out if you know anything.”
He looked pained. “And you think I’d talk?”
“No.”
His gaze leveled on hers. “So you don’t want me to know where you’re heading. You want to make sure I can’t find you.” In his eyes, a plea, even as he spoke of her leaving. Did he think the strength of his love could hold her here? If only it could!
She bit her lip. “I need to try to make sure no one can find me.”
She watched him swallow hard. “Even me,” he said.
Her chest began to ache. She had to make sure Jack didn’t offer to run off with her and give up this land he’d saved for and loved so much. He’d found a real home here, and with her, he’d have to live with shallow roots, holding on to a terrible secret, always looking over his shoulder. She was choosing that life, but it wouldn’t be right for him. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean for anything to happen between us. What can I do? How can I make it better?”
His face was molded with agony, his eyes shimmering in the sunlight, and he spoke like a defeated man, a broken man. “There’s no help for this.”
And then he simply kept his eyes on hers. She saw pure adoration in them. And she hated to admit it, even to herself, but his face had become the first thing to swim into her consciousness when she awoke in the morning. It had also become the last thing that followed her in dreams as she fell asleep at night.
He said again, “There’s no help for this. I’m sick with longing . . .”
With the prismed light and soft hum of nature around them, it was as if they were submerged and alone, in a world all their own.
But then there was Daisy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Adah, emboldened by her successful trip to town to see Kate Johnson, took the next step in enacting her plan for diversion. She caught a ride into the city, and then another to Les’s and her old house on the river. Even though she had been gone from the house longer than usual when she’d visited Kate, no one had mentioned it to her. And today, if the Branches did find out she’d come to the old farmhouse, it would work to her benefit.
The farmer who picked Adah up dropped her off at the entrance to the property. After thanking him, she walked toward the house, which was partly obscured by tall weeds growing along the dirt drive. It would be the first time Adah had to face alone the place where she had killed a walking, breathing man, one she had once loved. A sense of self-preservation slowed her steps. The only time she’d been here before had been in the company of Jesse and Buck, and she had been on a mission to find Lester’s money. She simply hadn’t been able to let down her guard. But this time she would have no such distractions.
What would it feel like to walk across the same ground where she had dragged Lester’s lifeless body to the river? Would she be forced to relive what she’d done? She’d heard that time healed all wounds, but as each day passed, she found that the shame over Lester never left her completely. Other wounds could be treated and healed, but guilt never goes.
A bright-red cardinal flew across her path, and the sweet smell of rolled hay tickled her nose. In a roadside tree, she spotted a bird’s nest up high. All good signs, she said to herself and pushed on.
At her side, she carried a pail full of cleaning supplies. She planned to remove as many of the ruined furnishings as she could and then start washing down walls and floors. As she drew closer and the house came into view, however, she paused. A pickup truck was parked in front of the house, but it wasn’t Lester’s old one. Lester’s was nowhere to be seen, and a man was walking through the front door.
Adah didn’t recognize him.
Continuing forward, she tried to imagine who would have any business here and what their business could be. The house looked the same; a grimy watermark still ringed the structure up high near the roof, and below that was dirt left behind from the sludge after the flood. When she reached the house, she climbed the steps to the open front door, and the same moldy smell wafted out from it.
“Hello,” she called out.
The man she’d seen go into the house came to the door and stepped out on the porch while saying hello back at her. He appeared to be in his late twenties, redheaded with a ginger beard, rail thin, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt, work pants, and boots—the garb of a farmer. He also had the quiet, sober demeanor of most farmers she’d known. His hands wer
e lean, with ragged but clean nails. He probably worked the soil but made sure to wash his hands at the end of each day.
When he gazed at Adah, his gray eyes held curiosity but not one ounce of anything negative. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Not sensing anything amiss but overcome with curiosity, she said to him, “I was about to ask you the same thing. May I help you ?”
He looked confused. Now a woman holding an infant came to the door and gazed out at Adah with a question on her face.
The man extended his hand. “I’m Adam Connor, and this here’s”—he gestured toward the voluptuous flaxen-haired woman—“my wife, Cora.”
Adah shook his hand. “I’m Adah Branch. This is my farm.”
Adam Connor’s eyes flew open wide. “Your farm?”
His surprised look landed on Adah with a certain harshness, setting off all sorts of warnings in her head, but she remained calm. “Yes, my husband and I lived here before the flood. He drowned . . .”
Adam Connor blinked and said, “Oh . . . now I know who you are. So sorry for your tragedy, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Obviously these were nice people, and Adah didn’t want to be rude, but her mind was muddled with questions.
“How are you getting along?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Adah answered, but she had no urge to turn this into a social call. This chance meeting started to feel unsettling. Heat crept into her cheeks. She set down the pail on the porch planks and raked the hair out of her face with her fingers. “I’m sorry to have to ask, but I didn’t think anyone would be around. Why are you here?”
Again, Adam Connor looked surprised. “The place is for sale. Well, not officially yet, but word has gotten around. Me and my wife and baby been looking for the right place for some time now. We been out here before, and we was taking another look now. We sure are interested, even if it might flood from time to time. More than interested, if truth be told. But we still want to bargain a bit with old Buck. We can afford this one, but not many others. Most of the farms in our price range been underwater before, but—”
The River Widow Page 22
