"Out between the houses. We were in the Grove, and she just took off."
"East, then. Damn." The land to the east of the compound gave onto thousands of acres of near-wilderness, with few roads. "Have you looked in the houses?"
"No, not yet. I didn't get worried until a little while ago."
"Okay, you check the Pink House, and I'll look in here. Don't forget to look in closets and under beds. She might be hiding." He didn't really think so. Serhilda wasn't a child, who'd crawl into a dark place and figure she was hidden.
When their searches of the bunkhouses yielded no results, Ward sent Annie to the cookshack to get others to help. He went to the Big House, where he started in the game room. Shortly his mother and John joined him.
"I'll start upstairs," his mother said. "Joss will be along in a few minutes to help."
"Evan and Eric are going to check down at headquarters. The others will fan out through the woods.," John added.
"Too damn many hiding places," Ward muttered as he opened yet another closet, this one filled with games and toys. He bent down to look under the bottom shelf, but all he saw were two open crates full of stuffed animals. He was about to move the sofa out from the wall when he heard his mother call.
She was leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs. "I found her. Send everyone else back to the cookshack. You come up here."
At the top of the stairs, Ward could see into his mother's bedroom. The bedspread was rumpled and wrapped around a figure, but no head showed whose.
"I want you to tell everyone she's here," Cecile said. "Tell them she came up here to wait for me and fell asleep."
"Did she?"
"That's what you'll tell them. And when dinner is ready, would you make up a tray for the three of us and bring it up here? I think we need to decide how to handle this whole situation."
He did as he was asked, playing down any danger Serhilda might have been in. "She apparently circled around and sneaked into the Big House right after she ran from Annie," he said when Jennifer pressed him. "If you ask me, she overdid it this morning, running all the way from the park after the hike."
Annie opened her mouth, closed it again when he frowned at her. She gave a quick nod. Ward knew she'd be after him tomorrow for the whole story. Whether he told it or not would be up to his mother. And Serhilda.
When Ward returned to the Big House with the tray, his mother and Serhilda were seated in the wing chairs. Neither looked particularly happy. The thick silence sat there like it had taken permanent residence in the room. Ward set the food out on the small round table between the chairs and pulled the rocker closer. "Help yourselves," he told them. "It's getting cold."
Dinner tonight had been a joint effort among Evan, Elaine, and Stewart. Ward could tell Elaine was used to cooking for small children. The meatloaf and scalloped potatoes were bland, the green beans salt free, and the Jell-O was red.
"All right, Serhilda," Cecile said, when they'd finished their silent meal. "Suppose you tell us why you came here to hide. Annie said you were convinced I hate you."
The girl creased her lips together and closed her eyes. Ward was beginning to wonder if she'd ever speak when she said, "You made me scrambled eggs with jelly. Annie said you only did that when someone was sick."
"But you're not sick, are you? You're troubled, but not sick."
"I feel sick." The words were little more than a whisper. "I feel like I'm dying. Like...like Les."
Les? Ward mouthed.
Cecile shrugged.
"Did you know about me?" Serhilda said, instead of answering. "Did Frances tell you about me?"
"No, she didn't," Cecile said, surprising Ward. "I'd lost touch with your mother--she hadn't answered my Christmas and birthday cards for years, not since Tom--her father--died. But none of them ever came back. Not until last summer."
Serhilda nodded. "She sold her house then and moved into a condo in Malibu."
"I worried that something had happened. She is still my daughter, even if she doesn't want to be. I hired a private investigator to find her, and to let me know what she was doing with her life."
Ward looked at his mother with amazement. She'd not said a word to him.
"He did a better job than I'd expected," Cecile went on. "He told me that Frances had a daughter, that I had a granddaughter I'd never known about." A pause, while she stared out the window and breathed deeply. "That's when I wrote to her and invited her to this Gathering. I told her to bring you."
"You wanted to see me? Me?"
Ward heard a lifetime of neglect in those few words.
"Of course. How could I not? And now that I've seen you, seen how much you resemble your grandfather, I am so happy I did." She leaned forward, took Serhilda's restless hands in her own. "Oh, darling, I can't tell you how happy I am to have found you. And how sorry I am that I never knew you before this."
Serhilda's expression hardened. "Sure you're sorry," she said. "You're sorry because it looks really bad that Frances didn't give a damn about her kid. That she gave me away like she would a puppy that peed on her rugs. That she never came to see me, never even called to see if I was still alive for sixteen years. You're sorry because it makes you look bad. What kind of mother were you to raise a woman like Frances-the-bitch?"
She jumped to her feet. "Well, you can just go to hell, Granny, because I can take care of myself. I don't need you or this family or...or anybody." She spun around and would have dashed out of the room, but Ward caught her in his arms. She was surprisingly strong for someone so slender, but he was bigger and stronger. He manacled her wrists when she tried to claw him, and wrapped his other arm around her. Despite her kicks and attempts to bite him, he managed to hold her while he dropped into the chair she'd vacated.
"Relax," he crooned. "Calm down. Come on, sweetheart, you're all right. Quiet, now. Quiet."
Her struggles gradually ceased but she still held herself stiffly in his arms.
"What the hell did she mean, her mother gave her away?" he demanded.
"According to the investigator, she was living with Frances's second husband and had been since she was about six months old. He had no legal responsibility for her, but the evidence is he provided her with a good home. Until March, when, for some reason the investigator couldn't discover, he sent her to live with Frances."
"He's dying," Serhilda whispered. "Les is dying."
Looking down, Ward saw tears streaming down her cheeks. "Les? Your father?"
"I wish--"
"He's not her father," Cecile said. "Her birth certificate says Rosenfeld is her father, but--"
"But he died more than a year before I was born." Serhilda laughed harshly. "I guess that's the longest pregnancy on record, huh?" She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Shit! I'll bet I look like a fucking raccoon."
"A little," Cecile said, before Ward could say anything about her language. "You'll wash. Now tell me about Les. You say he's dying."
"He's got AIDS. The docs say it's only a matter of time. I would have taken care of him, but he wouldn't let me.
"I wanted to take care of him. But he wouldn't let me," she wailed.
"Oh, my darling," Cecile said, kneeling before Ward. She wrapped her arms around Serhilda. "How terrible for you. There's nothing they can do?"
She shook her head. "He's in hospice now. That means he's not gonna live more than six months. I wanted to go see him before we left L.A., but Les told them not to let me in." She lifted a tear-drenched face to Ward. "I want to tell him good-bye."
"And so you shall, if I have anything to say about it," Cecile said. "Tomorrow morning I'll have a talk with your mo--with Frances. And then we'll see what we can do about getting you to Los Angeles to tell your father good-bye."
"He's not my--"
Ward said, "he's your father in every way that matters. He loves you. I'm sure of that."
"You think?"
"I'm certain of it," Cecile told her. "Now, why don't you c
url up here in my bed and see if you can rest. But first maybe you'd better take care of those raccoon eyes."
Serhilda stayed on Ward's lap a few more minutes before pushing herself to her feet. She moved like an old woman, stiff and aching, as she accepted a sleepshirt from Cecile and went into the bathroom to change.
"Will you take her to L.A. as soon as we can get more information?" Cecile asked. "I'll call the investigator tomorrow."
"Of course. But what if this Les refuses to see her?"
"I'll speak to him. Once he hears what I have to say, he'll see her."
"Let's just hope he stays alive long enough."
Chapter Fifteen
Thursday
When Annie woke, the sun was already sending its slanting rays into the bunkroom. There was something she was supposed to remember....
The air in the room was cold, her breath emerged in little clouds of vapor, making her snuggle down into her blankets. Too early to get up--
The door opened. She heard footsteps, a rustle of clothing. The mattress dipped as someone sat on it. "I thought you were going fishing," someone whispered.
Fishing. Clay. She sat up, flinging the covers aside. The cold air raised goose pimples on her bare legs. "What time is it??"
"A little after seven. I didn't notice you were still here until I came back in." Hetty yawned widely. "I slept like a log, never stirred all night long. My body must know it's not going to get much sleep tonight."
"I've got to go. Move!"
Hetty moved.
Annie scrambled into the clothes she'd worn yesterday. She'd told Clay she'd be at the fishing access at five-thirty. Two hours late. Damn, damn ,damn.
When she returned from the bathroom, CeCe and Charlene were sitting up in their bunks and Hetty was in front of the dresser, making up her eyes. "I've got to go," she told them. "Tell Mom--or somebody--I'll be back in time to go to Yellowstone."
"Tell her yourself," Hetty said. "She's probably in the cookshack by now."
"No time. I've got to go." Annie pulled her other sneaker on, left it untied. She grabbed a hoodie and dashed out the door.
All the cars' windows were coated with moisture. Annie swiped her forearm across the Neon's windshield, not wanting to take the time to squeegee it. She was about to climb in when she saw the red pickup just beyond Hetty's Corvette. A red pickup that didn't belong here, but down at the fishing access.
It was empty.
"Oh, no!" Frantically she looked around, but saw no sign of Clay. He hadn't come to the Pink House, so where-- Of course. The cookshack. Even this far away, she could hear the faint sounds of conversation from its open windows.
* * * *
Clay had waited nearly an hour for Annie, and had almost gone into the river without her. Only the memory of her glee at hooking her first trout had stopped him. He wanted to see, to share that glee again.
He'd driven up to the cluster of houses on the knoll, not intending to stop. Just to see if anyone was stirring. But when he'd slowed in front of the house where she was staying, he'd seen a couple of men crossing the road a ways ahead. One looked like the tall, older man he'd spoken to the other day. Blankenship? Yes, Ward Blankenship. He parked his pickup beside a classy yellow corvette and followed the men to the long, low white house.
Blankenship came to the door when he knocked, holding a steaming cup. "Looking for Annie, I'll bet."
"I am, yes. She was going to meet me and never showed."
"Probably slept late. She got caught in a hot game of Monopoly last night. It didn't break up until nearly eleven. Coffee?"
"Sounds good. Is she around?"
"Here she comes." Blankenship grinned as he looked past Clay. "I'll get your coffee."
"I'm sorry," he heard Annie say, before he got turned around. She looked as if she'd pulled her clothing on in a hurry--shoes untied, hooded sweatshirt wrong side out, and hair a mass of tangles. The urge to kiss her was so strong he had to forcibly restrain himself.
"Not a problem. I've got weeks yet to fish." He wanted to tell her about yesterday, how everything had gone unbelievably smoothly. How in five short weeks he'd be the owner of Fly By Knight, Last Chance's newest and best fly shop and fishing resort.
Since he hadn't even told her he was considering the purchase, he kept his mouth shut. Later, he promised himself. I'll tell her everything later.
"Weeks? I thought you were on vacation. Don't you have to get back?" She motioned him inside just as her uncle approached with his coffee.
"Not immediately. I'm sort of between jobs." He'd have to go back to Portland one more time, just long enough to clear out his safe deposit box and arrange to have his stored possessions shipped. That would wait until after Labor Day. "I've got the rest of the summer free."
"Lucky man," Blankenship said. "Annie, why don't you introduce him to your folks."
"And to Gran." She grimaced. "She's over there giving you the eye. C'mon. I don't think she'll bite."
As he followed her across the room, he wondered at the change in her. Tuesday she'd been almost hesitant, and...well, vulnerable was the word that had come to mind. Now she seemed self-confident. Was she simply shy with strangers?
He didn't think so. She'd been the one to instigate their first conversation.
"Gran, this is Clay Knight, who's trying to teach me to fly fish. Clay, my grandmother, Ce...uh, Mrs. Blankenship."
"Cecile," the elderly woman said, holding out her hand. "We don't stand on ceremony around here. Have you had breakfast?"
"No, but you don't need to--"
"Nonsense. We've enough to feed an army here. Annie, go put yourself together better while I get acquainted with Mr. Knight. You look like you slept in those clothes." She gestured him to the bench behind them and seated herself beside him.
Clay braved himself for the third degree.
"I want to thank you, Clay, for catching Annie's interest. She's had a...a bad year, and we're all happy to see her find something that interests her."
"It was her idea," he said. "I do admit I've enjoyed it every bit as much as she has. You should have seen her the other day when she hooked a three pound trout. Talk about excited."
"I'm glad. And grateful. Now, tell me a bit about yourself."
Before he had a chance to say much more than where he was from, Annie returned, clothing on correctly and hair combed. "I'm bummed," she said, as she slid onto the bench on his other side. "We're all going to Yellowstone today, so I won't be able to fish this afternoon. And I ruined your morning, too."
"Not at all. I can fish anytime." Did I really say that? "There's always tomorrow."
"As long as you're back by ten," Cecile told him. "Ward's organized a raft trip from Big Springs. I'd hate for Annie to miss it."
"I wouldn't," Annie said, too low for her grandmother to hear.
Clay glanced at her, wondering what had put the quaver in her voice. Then he remembered how she'd obviously conquered her fear when she'd followed him into the river Tuesday. Why didn't she just refuse to go with them?
Too many mysteries. He was about to thank them for the coffee and leave, when a loud clanging sounded from the other end of the big room. Looking that way, he saw a tall girl on the porch, ringing a big brass handbell. Before the last bong had died away, the people in the room started lining up at a pass-through next to the door.
"You'll stay for breakfast, Clay?" Cecile said. It sounded more like an order than an invitation.
No, he thought. I'm going fishing. "Love to," is what popped out of his mouth. The seductive scents of someone else's cooking had no doubt damaged his brain.
Cecile kept him at her side while they ate. Between bites, she named the people in the room. "I'll never remember," Clay protested.
"Some will stick, and with practice you'll remember most. And if you don't, so what? I sometimes forget them myself."
"Gran used to call me Thea-Ann-Kristi," Annie added. "Or sometimes Hetty-Ann, if my mother wasn't around."
"Second cousins. But they both resemble my mother-in-law, except for coloring." Cecile waved. "Hetty, come over here and meet Annie's young man."
"Gran!"
Clay shrugged and shook his head. "I've got a grandmother," he said, for her ears only. "Don't sweat it."
He met Hetty, three teenaged girls whose names he missed, a moody young man, and an assortment of boys from not-quite-teen to barely out of diapers. In between were more adults than he could keep straight. "You're going to have to make me up a cheat sheet," he muttered to Annie when everyone wandered off, having apparently satisfied any lingering curiosity.
As the big room started to empty, the noise level decreased. "Is it always like that?" Clay wondered aloud when the younger kids all disappeared at once.
"Oh, no, sometimes it gets noisy," Hetty said with a grin. "Gran, are you sure I shouldn't tell Mother and Dad about Frank before I go?"
"You know your mother's going to be upset. Why ruin the day for everyone?"
Clay gave Annie a questioning glance.
"Tell you later," she said, barely loud enough for him to hear.
"I'll hold you to that," he murmured.
"Okay, then, I'm off." Hetty departed after picking up a couple of bottles of water from a case near the coffee pots.
"As am I'" Cecile said, getting slowly to her feet. "Clay, why don't you join us today? The more the merrier."
Since he'd been thinking the same thing, but from a slightly different perspective, he agreed immediately. "How about it, Annie? Shall we join the caravan? Or would you rather ride with your family?"
What he'd hoped for was an enthusiastic acceptance. What he got was a slow smile, and a soft, "I'd like to be with you."
Even better than enthusiasm.
* * * *
Yellowstone's roads were, as usual, full. Traffic was not quite bumper-to-bumper. Annie fretted at the slowness of their progress until she noticed that Clay was relaxed, one hand on the wheel and the other draped over the edge of the window.
"Doesn't this drive you nuts?"
"What? The traffic? Not a bit. The slower we go, the more I can see. We're here to be tourists, not to get anywhere in particular."
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