by Amy Engel
It’s an early afternoon in late September when I’m returning from bathing in the river, twisting my hair to wring water out of it as I walk. The last days of Indian summer are upon us, sky blue and crisp as a sheet of glass, wispy white clouds floating on a mild breeze. We need blankets at night now, and Ash says we’ll be packing up to move into town in a few weeks. I will be sad to leave the camp behind; I’ve grown used to living outside of four walls, just like Ash.
Mark’s tent is not near ours, but I pass it every time I leave camp, and I can’t resist looking as I walk past. It’s rare that I actually see him during the day, but today is different. He is sitting on the ground in front of his tent, a little girl on his lap. His arms are around her, and he’s helping her make some kind of doll out of sticks.
I stop midstride, go still as death. I can feel my pulse in my fingertips and behind my eyes. Mark looks up, as if the force of my shock has called to him. He gives me a lazy smile, and goes back to talking to the girl. I drop my bundle of dirty clothes where I stand. The little girl looks startled when I crouch down next to them, slap Mark’s arms away from her.
“You need to go home,” I tell her. My voice is hoarse. I sound on the edge of tears, but what I really feel is a clawing, tearing rage. “Go find your mom.”
The girl looks back at Mark, her eyes wide. She is scared of me. Of me. Which would be funny if it weren’t so horrible. “Go!” I say again, louder, and she’s off. Probably to tell her mother about the mean girl who yelled at her. I don’t really care if it gets her away from him.
“Well,” Mark says, “that wasn’t very nice.” He doesn’t bother trying to hide his laugh.
I carry a knife in a sheath on my belt now. One very much like the blade I watched Ash kill a man with not so long ago. My hand finds the hilt without me even thinking about it, another thing Caleb has taught me. Too late, Mark catches the movement, and his smile dries up on his face. I don’t pull the knife. Not yet. It’s enough to watch his eyes go wide before narrowing, his pulse speeding up in his neck. Enough to know he is scared.
“Remember that day by the river?” I ask him, still crouched down beside him. “Remember how I let you live?”
He doesn’t answer me. Anger radiates off him; I can feel it like the blast from an oven against my face. He hates that I got the best of him, that I’m not turning to bones on the riverbank and I’m here to throw my triumph back in his face.
“If I see you even talking to another child, looking at one, I’ll finish what I started that day, you sick bastard.” I’ve never talked this way before in my life. My words have always been almost uncontrollable when my temper flares, but not like this. I’ve never threatened someone. It’s like ever since Mark returned there’s been a balloon expanding in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe, and today it finally popped, leaving me with room to fill my lungs. I have an insane urge to cackle with something very close to glee.
Mark looks from my hand on the knife to me. “No, you won’t,” he says, finding his voice. “Because I’ll tell them about you. Who you are. Who you love.” His blue eyes twinkle. I can understand how a child would be fooled by them; it takes experience to recognize the evil lurking in those blue pools. “They’ll rip you apart.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I think they’re good people. Better people than you, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t even care if you’re right. It’ll be worth it. Just to slide this knife between your ribs. Just to watch you die first.” Whatever he sees in my face must convince him it’s better to shut up than keep talking. I stand and look down at him. “I’m not scared of you.” It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s the closest I can get in words. I’m still frightened by him; I’d be a fool not to be. But it’s not enough to be scared anymore, not enough to stop me or silence me.
Mark mumbles something under his breath, but it doesn’t matter what he says. He can’t meet my eyes, his shoulders slumped. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s over between us, but I’ll take this victory.
I turn and walk away, head high, heart thumping, hand still curled around my knife.
Chapter Seven
“Okay, you were right. This is definitely my least favorite chore.” I throw a just-rinsed shirt onto the growing pile on the riverbank.
“It took you this long to figure that out?”
“I was giving it a fair chance.”
Ash’s expression tells me what she thinks of that idea. “I’ve always hated it,” she says. She is knee-deep in the river, scrubbing a pair of overalls with soap.
“At least we only have to do it once a week.” I frown at my raw fingers.
“Even that’s too much. I’d rather be out hunting. Or gardening. Or something.”
“Me, too,” I say with a sigh, reaching for another shirt in the thankfully dwindling mound of dirty clothes.
“Glad to hear it,” Caleb says. “Because tomorrow that’s what we’re doing. Hunting.”
“Really?” Ash asks, head snapping up. “Real hunting? Not just snaring?”
“Yep.”
I look over to where he’s appeared, shading my eyes against the sinking sun. He nods at me, gives Ash a smile.
“Wanna help?” Ash calls, splashing water in his direction. Caleb steps back, easily avoiding getting wet.
“Nope. I’m going on a walk.”
I catch Ash’s eye and look down, trying to swallow my smile. She’s told me that Caleb goes on “walks” when he wants to be alone with a girl.
“Who is it this week?” Ash asks, not bothering to hide her grin.
“None of your damn business,” Caleb throws back. “You two stick together tonight.”
“Why? You planning on being gone until morning?” Ash asks, all mock innocence, and this time I can’t bite back my laughter.
Caleb points at me. “Watch it.” Which just sets Ash off, too. Both of us smothering giggles behind handfuls of wet cloth.
“Jesus,” Caleb huffs. “You two are pitiful.”
“Have fun!” I call as he walks away.
“Don’t knock her up!” Ash yells at his retreating back.
Caleb throws a rude gesture over his shoulder, but doesn’t turn around.
When our laughter has faded away, I look at Ash with raised eyebrows. “So, who is it this week?”
Ash shrugs. “Not sure. I think it’s Laurel.”
I still don’t have names for all the faces in camp. But I think I know who Laurel is, a petite girl with dishwater-blond hair and a lopsided smile. “She’s pretty.” I wring out the pants I’m holding. “Do you think he likes her?”
Ash rolls her eyes. “Who could tell? He likes all of them.”
I snort out another laugh. “Almost done,” I say, pulling the last shirt from the pile.
“Thank God,” Ash says. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you like anyone back in Westfall? A boy?”
My heart somersaults in my chest. I shake my head, hoping the setting sun hides the roses on my cheeks.
“What about that guy you were supposed to marry, the president’s son, did you know him?”
I concentrate on scrubbing the shirt, keep my gaze focused on the faded cotton. “No. Not really.”
“What was his name?”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. “Bishop.” Strange how the sound of a single word can hurt more than a ruined shoulder, cut deeper than a bloody gash.
“Weird name,” Ash says.
“Hmmm…” I look up at her, but she’s busy beating the hell out of a pair of pants. “I think it was his mother’s maiden name.”
“My dad used to talk about the president of Westfall. I guess that would have been Bishop’s grandpa back then.” She swipes a cluster of suds off her forehead with the back of her hand. “You did the right thing, refusing to marry him. He’s probably as horrible as the rest of the Lattimers.”
I stumble away from her. “I’ll s
tart hanging the clean stuff.” My throat is so tight I can barely speak, tears caught trembling on my eyelashes. I remember coming home to Bishop washing our clothes. Hanging them together in the backyard. He was never horrible. Not for a single second. And I can’t even defend him, can’t open my mouth to speak of him at all.
I’m on watch a couple of nights later when Caleb finds me. At night, there are always people on guard around the perimeter of the camp. After a few weeks, my name was put in the rotation. Probably after Caleb figured I could be trusted. I have a love-hate relationship with watch. As much as I like Ash, it’s nice to have a few hours by myself. But being alone in the quiet dark, with only the chilly moonlight and shadows for company, leaves me with too much time to think. And after my talk with Ash at the river the other day, my mind invariably turns to Bishop, the impossible green of his eyes, his real smile—the one I earned over time—his long fingers holding a photograph of the ocean. His good and patient heart. For the most part, I have been able to put away my father and Callie, Westfall and my childhood. But Bishop refuses to stay in the box I’ve made for him, always clawing his way out and demanding to be seen.
Tonight I can’t stop picturing his face on the night he told me he trusted me. Held me in his arms and let me cry over my dead mother, his warm hand on my neck. I blow out a wobbly breath, press the heels of my hands hard against my closed eyes, trying to force his image to fade. I wonder if it will be a relief or a new kind of heartbreak when the day comes I can no longer remember exactly what he looked like, bring to mind every shifting expression on his face.
“You okay?”
I jerk my hands away from my eyes, spin around where I’m sitting, and almost slam into Caleb, who’s crouched down behind me. He holds up both hands, gives me a small smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then stop sneaking up on me,” I say, using irritation to cover my fear.
“Duly noted.” Caleb holds out a canteen. “Ash was worried you’d get thirsty out here.” I expect him to head straight back to camp, but instead he sits down beside me.
I’m not used to Caleb wanting to spend time with me, not unless he’s teaching me something or keeping Ash company. His gaze is heavy on me, like a spotlight in the darkness. “What?” I ask, glancing in his direction. The moon glints off his face, forms tiny silver starbursts in his eyes.
“You’ve been keeping secrets,” he says.
I was right to be nervous. My heart races, but I steady my breathing. I open my mouth to deny what he’s said, but stop myself at the last second. Caleb’s not someone who will easily accept a lie, especially not a lie from me. “Everyone has secrets,” I say finally.
“True.” A branch breaks in the distance, and we both whip our heads in that direction. It’s nothing, probably an animal out searching for dinner, but I’m glad for the distraction. Caleb, however, isn’t going to be put off. “But your secrets involve Mark Laird.”
I drag a small stick through the dirt beside me, draw a circle, fill it with lines. “Why do you say that?”
“I saw you, Ivy,”
I don’t look up. “Saw me what?”
“With your hand on your knife.” He pauses. “And murder on your face.”
Now I do look at him. I had no idea he was around when I had my confrontation with Mark. I doubt it would’ve stopped me. I doubt anything would have. But it would’ve been good information to have.
“I remember those bruises on your arms when we found you,” Caleb says. “I know what finger marks look like.”
I shrug. “Like you said, it can be tough out here. Alone.”
“What did he do?” Caleb asks quietly. “What is he holding over you?”
I want so badly to tell him. To tell someone. To just let all my secrets tumble out and disappear on the wind. But I trusted my father and Callie. And look where that got me. They were my blood, and in the end, they had no trouble cutting me loose. Why would Caleb or Ash or any of these people who’ve known me only a few weeks do better by me? So I clench my jaw and shake my head.
“Who are you?” Caleb asks, and my blood runs cold, my heart stumbling in my chest. “Who are you really?”
“Ivy Westfall,” I say. “You already know that.”
“Daughter of Justin,” Caleb says with a slight nod. “The great man.”
“Yes.”
Caleb’s eyes catch mine before I can turn away. “Is that why you flinch every time someone says his name?”
I stare at him for a long moment, keep my mouth shut. Because there’s nothing I can say. No answer I can give him that will both satisfy him and save me.
Caleb sighs, rubs a hand over the top of his close-cropped hair. “There aren’t a lot of people I really care about,” he says. “A handful, maybe. And that’s probably a high estimate.” His face is serious, his gaze intense. “You’re one of them. Let me help you.”
I’m so surprised I don’t know what to say, all my words momentarily dried up on my tongue. “Why?” I ask, finally.
Caleb makes an impatient sound, which is more recognizably Caleb. “Because you need it. I think you’re in over your head, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“No. Why do you care about me?”
Caleb shakes his head, like he’s not even sure of the answer himself. “Because Ash loves you already. And I love Ash. Because you make her smile. Because you’ve worked hard here. You’ve been tougher than I thought you would be. Because you can gut a squirrel in ten seconds flat.” I roll my eyes but he doesn’t smile. “You’re a part of us now.”
“So is Mark,” I say, voice flat.
“I don’t care about Mark.”
“You were sure worried about how I got his bag,” I remind him.
“That was before. I didn’t know you then. Now I do.” He pauses, nudges me with his shoulder. “Now I know you’re worth saving.”
His words take me back to that dusty room in the ruined house, when having a conversation like this with Caleb seemed as distant as the moon. That moment feels like just yesterday and a million years ago, both at the same time. I never imagined a future where sitting next to Caleb would be anything close to comfortable. If I were still a girl who hoped for things, I might wish that Caleb could truly take the place of the family I lost, become the brother I never had and someday love me the same way he loves Ash. But I’ve stopped making wishes that aren’t ever going to come true. I learned that lesson the hard way.
“Let me help you,” Caleb repeats. “Please.”
I’ve never heard him say that word before. The sincerity in his voice breaks my heart a little. I didn’t even know my heart was capable of that anymore. I can feel the truth pressing against the backs of my teeth, searching for the slightest crack in my resistance. “I can’t,” I manage to get out.
Caleb blows out a breath, pushes himself to standing with his hands on his thighs. Frustration rolls off him, his jaw tight. But his voice is still gentler than I’m used to when he speaks. “If you don’t want help or don’t want to tell me the truth, that’s your choice. But whatever happens from here on out, it’s on you, Ivy.” He points at me. “It’s on you.”
“I know that,” I say, ignoring the hollow pit in my stomach, the urge to pull him back down beside me and confide everything. “It always has been.”
It’s one of our last nights around the bonfire. Ash tells me that in a few days we’re going to begin dismantling the camp and we’ll move back to town within a week or so.
“It takes a while,” she says, around a mouthful of bread. “To get everything into town.”
“How far is it?” I ask, picking at my deer meat.
“A few miles that way.” She points to the south. “Along the river.”
“Where will I live?” I ask. I don’t want to assume I’ll still be living with her, don’t want her to feel like I’m a burden she has to constantly shoulder. Maybe she’s ready to go back to how things used to be. It will be enough to be part of the g
roup; I don’t have to be right next to Caleb and Ash to survive.
Ash kicks at my foot with hers. “With us, of course. Caleb and I share a house. There’s an extra bedroom.”
I can’t help the grin that slides across my face, and Ash grins back. “Like I’m going to let you get away now that I have you,” she scoffs, making me laugh.
“Where is Caleb?” I ask, looking around the ring of faces. “Out on another walk?” Lately when Caleb looks at me, I think I see disappointment in his eyes. But I still like it better when he’s here, with his impatient groans and teasing voice.
Ash snickers. “No. He and Mark and a few other people went out hunting earlier. I don’t know if they’ll be back tonight or not.”
I definitely don’t like the thought of Mark and Caleb together. Caleb can handle himself, and I don’t think Mark would ever break and tell Caleb anything, but the possibility still makes me nervous.
“Caleb said they might stay out an extra day or two,” Ash continues. “There’s been more activity in the woods than normal, and he wants to check it out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just signs that more people than usual have been passing through. It happens sometimes, probably nothing to worry about.”
“Are they coming from Westfall?” I ask, my mind tripping over itself wondering what might be causing people to leave.
Ash shrugs. “They could be, I guess. We don’t really know.”
I take a calming breath, remind myself that whatever is, or isn’t, happening in Westfall no longer has anything to do with me. My part in the Westfall drama is over. But the worry remains, nibbling away at me.
We sit in front of the bonfire until it’s burned down to half its original size, huddled under a blanket together. Ash leans her head on my shoulder and something inside me rolls over. How can this girl who barely knows me love me more than the sister who spent every second with me from the moment I was born? And how am I supposed to guard my emotions against someone who is so free and easy with her own?
