Behind the Bonehouse

by Sally Wright

  The sun was still hot, when it wasn’t hidden by the clouds that had just begun to drift in in swirling white mounds, before they got torn into tatters that slid apart toward the north.

  Spencer was quieter than sometimes, while Emmy ran around them, sniffing tire tracks on the gravel drive—till she spotted her favorite barn cat in the tall grass along the fencerow on their right where the yearling colts were turned out on the east side of the drive.

  It was a game they played almost daily, and Cloe clawed up a distant sycamore, just as Emmy shot off in hot pursuit, barely squeezing between two fence rails, giving a handful of yearlings a reason to turn and run. They all liked the excitement, and Spencer laughed when Jo did, just before a huge horse fly landed on Jo’s head—the Flying Fortress of the horse world that can rip chunks out of horsehide. She waved it away, then trapped it on her shoulder and crushed it between her fingers before she told Spencer she was sorry.

  “For what?” His blond-brown hair was blowing in his face, and he pushed it back with one hand before he looked at Jo.

  “That you’ve had to sell your farm.”

  “Thanks. Yeah. I know. But the couple who bought it are in their seventies, and when their granddaughters sell their horses to go to college, they’ll move back to Midway. They’ve given me right of first refusal, so I’m hoping I’ll have the business up and running, and can buy it back then.”

  “You think our tenant house’ll make you claustrophobic?”

  “No. I’m working so many hours, all I need is a place to sleep. The important thing is that you’re letting me bring the horses here and take care of them myself without having to pay board.”

  “It’s the least we could do with what you’ve done for us.”

  “What d’ya think of the name Blue Grass Horse Transport? Dissolving Blue Grass Horse Vans means I’ve got to come up with a new name. I wanted to keep Blue Grass in it to make reaching old customers easier, but—”

  “I think it’s fine, as long as folks don’t think you pick up horses and deliver them.”

  “Yeah, that’s the danger. If you come up with a better suggestion let me know.”

  “What are Martha and Richard doing?”

  “Well …” Spencer picked up a stick and threw it up ahead for Emmy. “We’ve had to put Mom and Dad’s house and the Blue Grass property up for sale to pay the inheritance taxes. They’re based on the value of Dad’s estate when Blue Grass was worth something.”

  “Nuts.”

  “Yeah. But we’ll get the insurance money from the fire. It was some kind of a wiring malfunction, so that’s been a relief. Anyway, Richard’s going to work for a company in Lexington that sells rare stamps and coins. He used to collect both, so I think he’ll be suited for it. Martha’s gotten a job at the art museum in Macon, Georgia. Her college roommate lives there, and she’s converted her family home into two large apartments, and Martha’s going to rent one. Her ex-husband pays decent child support, and it’s at least a place to start.”

  “How are they treating you?”

  Spencer shrugged as Emmy brought the stick back and slipped it in his hand, so he’d tug on it while he walked. “More or less the way they have since Dad died. They can’t get over of the fact that he trusted me to run the business.”

  “So it’s the old ‘Daddy loved you better.’”

  “He didn’t, though. He just thought I’d do a better job.”

  “Your dad thinking your brother’s more competent must be hard too. Especially when it’s true.”

  “I know. Family business. If it wasn’t this, it’d be something else.”

  “Are you going to keep your folks’ horses?”

  “I don’t need four, that’s for sure. If I knew somebody who’d ride them and care for them the way I would, then it might be different. It’s not like selling a couch.”

  “No. I went through that when Tommy died and left me Sam and Maggie. ’Course I’d had to put my own horse down, so that made it easier.”

  They’d passed the trees on the south side of Jo’s house, and the long drive that led to it, and they were almost to the tenant house, a hundred yards north, when they heard a car climbing the drive. They turned in time to watch it cross the cattle guard in the front hedge, heading up to Jo’s porch.

  Spencer said, “Was that Earl?”

  “I couldn’t see the driver.”

  They couldn’t see much of anything through the evergreen windbreak, and they walked on to the tenant house Spencer had just rented. They stopped on the porch and looked at the chaos inside—furniture shoved against the walls around a sea of cardboard.

  Spencer said, “A sharecropper Dad knew as a kid used to say, ‘The worst thing about any job is the dreadin’ of it.’”

  “Let’s just hope he’s right.”

  “I know!”

  “What do you want me to do?” Jo was standing with her hands on her hips, gazing from one side to the other of the wide open room that was kitchen and living room and dining room combined.

  “I need to put the bedframe together in the bedroom first, but then—”

  “How ’bout I put your dishes away and set up the kitchen?”

  “Thanks. That’d be great.”

  “We can shuffle the furniture around once some of the boxes are gone.”

  “Fine.” Spencer stopped in the middle of the room, holding his old pine headboard. “Elizabeth said she’d come over tomorrow and help me too.” He looked endearingly self-conscious.

  And Jo smiled before she said, “Good,” and told herself not to laugh.

  “Thank Alan for me too, for what he did this morning. I couldn’t have moved the furniture without him.”

  Spencer had just walked into the bedroom, when Jack parked his pick-up in what there was of a driveway thirty feet from the front door. The back was filled with boxes of books, and Jack asked where he should put them as he slammed the truck door.

  “Pro’bly here on the porch for now. The living-room floor’s an obstacle course.”

  “I heard from France.” Jack smiled as he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face and neck. “She’ll get here September 12th. Do you know anybody I could hire to give the house a good cleaning? I clean, but—”

  “Charlie Small’s sister, Esther Wilkes. She’d do a great job.”

  “Also,” Jack lowered his voice and smiled self-consciously as he opened the tailgate and reached for a box, “when we talked before, you said Camille could stay with you if she wanted. You still willing? I’d like to give her a choice. I’ve got the extra bedroom too, but—” His voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes, and it almost looked to Jo as though he was ready to blush.

  “Sure. No trouble at all.”

  “And …” He paused dramatically and smiled at Jo. “The people you’re doing the restoration for have accepted my proposal for the landscaping.”

  “Good!”

  “This is the first time I’ve had a chance to execute an overall plan. By the way, did you know Earl’s up at your house?”

  “No. I wonder what he wants?”

  “One other thing.” Jack looked at her, holding the box, but still not speaking for what seemed like half a minute. “My father’s heart condition’s gotten worse. I’m driving up tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “I never should’ve stayed away from him all those years. It was my mother I didn’t …” Jack looked stricken.

  And Jo said, “I look back on how frustrated I got with how my mother treated me when she had the brain tumor, and I wish I could do it all over. Your father’s so glad to talk to you now, that’s all he cares about.”

  Jack didn’t say anything else. He just set the box of books on the porch, and went to get another.

  Earl had knocked on Jo and Alan’s front door, then opened it and shouted, but hadn’t gotten an answer.

  He’d seen Jo walking toward the tenant house, but Alan’s Dodge was parked by the south side of the
ir house, so he walked around behind it past the arbor, and saw Alan sitting with his back to him by the willow tree on the edge of the pond, sharpening a hedge clipper, with Ross on a blanket beside him.

  “Hey. Ya got a minute?”

  Alan looked over his shoulder, and said, “Sure. Let me get you a chair.”

  “I’ll get it.” Earl was carrying a shoebox in his left hand, but he grabbed a director’s chair from the arbor with his right, and set it on the other side of Alan from Ross.

  Alan shoved the hedge clippers under his chair, where Ross couldn’t get them, while he told himself it was purely Pavlovian, the wariness and flash of distrust whenever he saw Earl. “So what’s up? You’re actually wearing jeans again.”

  “Saturday. Took the day off, ’cept for a fund-raiser this mornin’.” Earl was squinting at the pond, his broad face furrowed and fixed under the brim of a worn beige cowboy hat, his huge hands planted on his knees, looking as though he felt ill at ease too, or was worried that his small canvas chair wouldn’t hold up underneath him. “First off, I gotta say this once. Ya shouldn’ta gone after Butch like you did. It couldda gone wrong real easy for you, and for Jo and Ross.”

  “It happened fast. Finding Jo gone. Spencer getting here within minutes. Hearing from Frannie where Butch might’ve taken them. I made the decision to move right away because of what Spencer and I did in the war.” Alan looked at Earl, as he rubbed his left thigh, his eyes steady and cool.

  “I’m just sayin’ what’s gotta be said.” Earl took a pack of gum from his shirt and held it out toward Alan, then folded a stick in his own mouth after Alan shook his head. “Ross is doing real well. Sittin’ up like that and all.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway, I wanted ya to know the County Attorney’s gonna move things along so Butch’ll go to trial week after next.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  “His wife’s been visitin’ some, so that’s been good. Goin’ cold turkey hasn’t been easy, just like you’d expect.” Earl gazed over at Ross, looking self-conscious again, without saying anything for a minute. “So whatta ya figure he was gonna do to Jo?”

  Alan shrugged and shook his head, and handed Ross the rubber ball that had rolled onto the grass. “I don’t know. I doubt he would’ve tried to ransom them. I think he wanted to make me suffer more than anything else. I’d like to think he probably would’ve brought ’em home, once he’d sobered up. But it was touch and go in the houseboat. I don’t know whether he threw Ross down, or dropped him accidentally, but he was ready to shoot Jo then, even if he didn’t mean to when the whole thing started.”

  “Wasn’t thinkin’ too clear, I know that. How’d he know to act like the neighbor up the road to get Jo outta the house?”

  “From when he worked at Equine, I guess. I probably mentioned that Jo and I knew him, and had him over to dinner sometimes. You want an iced tea, or a coffee?”

  “Nope. Just wanted to tell ya where things stand, and give ya back the 1911 Spencer used on Butch. I talked the County Attorney into letting it go once all the documentation got done, with your report, and Jo’s and all, corroboratin’ Spencer’s.” Earl took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then set them back on his nose. “I’m kinda hopin’ this makes it up to you some. For what happened before.” He didn’t look at Alan when he said it. He gazed out beyond the pond as though there was something worth looking at.

  “You did what you thought you had to do.”

  “I did. But it don’t make what you went through go away.”

  “I can’t honestly say that I can look at you and not remember what happened. But I don’t blame you, and time’ll take care of the awkwardness.”

  Earl nodded, and stood up, and set his hands on his hips. “I’m real glad Jo and Ross are okay. I’ll talk to ya another time.”

  “How’s the election looking?”

  “I got no idea. Nothin’ I hate more than campaignin', but ya play the hand yer dealt, right?”

  “I think it backfired when the other guy tried to make a big deal out of you arresting me. I think folks respected you for admitting the mistake in public.”

  “You talkin’ to the papers helped with that too.”

  Earl was walking toward the south side of the house when Alan said, “Thank you for coming to tell me about Butch.”

  Earl waved without looking back, then disappeared past the arbor.

  Spencer went off to have dinner with Elizabeth from the pole barn business, and Jack went home to get cleaned up there, and it was almost eight when Jo and Alan had packed cold chicken and pickled beets, lettuces they’d just picked, a half bottle of good champagne his folks had given them for their anniversary in December, fresh strawberries from Toss’s garden, cream she’d just whipped, ice water, and Ross’s bottle—and pushed his stroller past the barns, to the old broken-down log and stone cabin on the south end of their land.

  There was a big sweetgum sheltering that side of the cabin, just above a deep ravine, and they settled Ross on a blanket underneath it, and sat on the stone steps beside him and laid out their picnic. They’d given Sam and Maggie and Spencer’s horses carrots on the way past their paddock, and they could see them grazing and looking pleased with themselves from where they sat in the shade.

  They’d brought real plates and silverware, and they were balancing them on their laps, laughing at Ross playing with a stick instead of the toys they’d brought. Emmy was lying there next to the blanket, her eyes clamped on the stick as though she thought it ought to be hers, which made Jo say, “That stick is not for you!” while she patted Emmy’s shoulder.

  “I like the marinade on the chicken.” Alan had opened the champagne and was pouring Jo a glass.

  “Ginger and soy sauce and garlic, and the juice and rind of an orange. Isn’t it great to be alone? Finally. With nothing terrifying going on?”

  “Yeah. Look, he’s trying not to fall asleep.” Alan had waved his fork toward Ross, who’d fallen over on his side and was holding his yellow stuffed rabbit against his face, his big blue eyes closing, then flying opening, then closing slowly again.

  Alan speared another bite of chicken, but looked directly at Jo before he put it in his mouth. “So how are you doing? Really.”

  “I’m okay. If I ever complain about the weather again, kick me right in the shins.”

  “You sure?”

  “That you should kick me?”

  “Very funny.”

  Jo smoothed Ross’s hair, and then gazed down the slope of the ravine. “Something happened in the houseboat.”

  “What?” Alan’s fork froze in midair, as he turned and stared at Jo.

  “Before you got there. Something that made a difference in how I handled it that I don’t know how to explain.” Jo stopped then and ate a bite of chicken.

  And Alan sat still and watched.

  “I knew I was at Butch’s mercy. That everything that was happening to me was out of my control. I don’t like that feeling at all. Not having any control.”

  Alan said, “I know,” and told himself not to laugh.

  “I’ve always wanted to influence events. To have a definite say in what’s about to happen. Maybe it was Dad dying so young, and worrying about Tommy during the war, neither of which I could change. And you being arrested made me crazy partly because there was nothing I could do to help.”

  “You helped.”

  “You know what I mean. So I was sitting there, with Butch getting drunker all the time, waving a revolver in my face, and I knew there was nothing I could do. Ross and I were hanging by a thread being held in the hands of a drunk. And then I thought, ‘No, it’s in God’s hands. All of it. And who else’s would I want it to be in?’ And once I thought that, I stopped feeling so panicked. And I knew that how it came out would be whatever way it should. And then I was able to slow myself down, and think more clearly about how to talk to Butch, and try to calm him down. It wasn’t me thinking that without help, either. And
it did begin to calm him down some. And help him see me more as a person, and not just as his enemy’s wife.”

  Alan nodded almost imperceptibly before he said, “I know exactly what that’s like.”

  “France?”

  “Yeah. And here. You want more beets and sour cream?”

  She shook her head as she watched him, and saw he didn’t want to say any more, especially about the war. “You asked me how I’m doing. I could ask you the same thing.”

  “It can change so fast, Jo. Life, as we so carefully construct it. Just one phone call, or one—”

  “You mean the way the phone rings and someone you don’t know tells you your brother was crushed on his motorcycle?”

  “Sorry. Yes. Exactly. You know that as well as I do. It could be a lump showing up in an armpit. Or a piece of old shrapnel shifting toward your heart. Or one person like Carl Seeger who wants to wreak vengeance. We can’t take this for granted. Food enough for a picnic tonight. All of us being healthy right now. A house to live in that keeps us warm and dry in a place like this that we love.”

  “I know. I do. Just having you here. When the thought of you in jail for years was almost more than I could stand.” She leaned over and kissed him, and dropped a forkful of salad on his knee, before she sat up and listened. “Did you hear something?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Boots on gravel. Emmy!”

  Emmy had leapt right over Ross, and was running toward the south barn.

  Buddy Jones, tall and bony and blond headed, appeared around the corner of the south barn, moving fast, excitement sticking out all over him. “Hey! Wondered where you two was!”

  Jo put a finger across her lips and pointed down at Ross on the blanket, and Buddy nodded and slowed himself down, and when he got to the lawn leading up to the steps, he sat on his heels and grinned at them, while he rubbed Emmy’s chin.

  “What’s up?” Jo smiled and poked him on the knee. “You look like you won the Triple Crown.”

  “You know who Mack Miller is? Trainer for the guy who owns Cragwood Stables?”

  “Engelhard. Sure. Mack and his wife live on Morgan Street.”