But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand the thought of answering their stupid questions or watching them look at her as if she were an oddity like a monkey-faced Fiji mermaid or a two-headed snake. It made me nervous, too, so many come out to see her. Baird was certain to hear of her now. Someone would talk, and it would get to some newspaper, and then to him. And once he asked for her, what would keep Junius from sending her away? It wasn’t as if I’d kept my end of the bargain. I hadn’t gotten him the canoe. But if I couldn’t find the time to study the mummy, I surely couldn’t find it to get to Bruceport and talk to Bibi.
It didn’t help that the dream invaded not just my waking hours, but my sleep, too—not every night, but enough that I came to dread it. It no longer brought horror and panic, but a nausea that was sometimes so bad it was all I could do not to bolt for the chamber pot, to lie still until the feeling passed. I never woke Junius, and I don’t think he noticed my restlessness. I said nothing to Lord Tom, though I saw the way he watched me, as if he were searching for something. He knew me better than anyone alive—even Junius—so well that sometimes I thought he must be reading my mind. But Lord Tom didn’t question me, and I was grateful for it. I kept thinking, If I could just get to her, if I could just study her, this would all go away and I would have my life back again. I would be myself again.
Though really, how was I not myself? It was just...that anxiety from the dream seemed to inhabit me. That waiting I’d felt since the night of the storm. I was aware of every moment passing, and myself growing older within it, everything I’d ever wanted stretching farther out of reach—but that was so strange, because what did I want that I didn’t already have? Beyond children, of course, but...some things you just had to live without. Still, that anxiety pushed and pushed and it didn’t matter how I pushed back; it didn’t go away.
It was two weeks before I managed to find the time for study again, and only then because Lord Tom and I returned from the whacks earlier than usual. It was still early afternoon, and if there were no oglers, I would have hours with her. When I saw no strange canoes or plungers pulled ashore, I could barely temper my excitement.
I left Lord Tom to tend the canoe and hurried over the hillocks of marsh grass and the shallow little mud flats between them to the path of crushed oyster shells that led past the worn gray pickets of the fence. Wild rose twined about the gate, mostly bare, a few yellow and brown mottled leaves, full, plump hips, the little thorns grabbing at my sleeve as I passed. I meant to go past the house and straight to the barn, when there was a movement on the porch, and I looked up to see a man sitting on the steps.
Another one of Junius’s gawkers. My hopes died; my disappointment and anger were so overwhelming I felt the sudden press of tears. He stood when he saw me, brushing his hands against the faded gray cloth of the coat he wore; it looked old enough to be from the War, though I wondered if he had been the original owner—he looked to be only in his late twenties. His boots and trousers were muddied to the knee with the thick, stinking mud of the flats or the sloughs. I smelled it from where I stood. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and wore a slouchy leather hat nearly the twin of the one I had on now; beneath it his hair was the deep gold of old coins where it waved against his jaw. A handsome face, one I would have remembered if I’d seen it before, which I hadn’t.
He stepped down the porch stairs. “Hello,” he said, touching his hat in deference, very polite. “I wonder if you could tell me if this is Junius Russell’s place.”
“It is,” I said, unable to keep the irritation from my voice. “I suppose you’ve come to see the mummy too.”
He looked taken aback, and then he smiled in that way men do who know they’re attractive, a straight-on gaze meant to charm. He had a large mouth, a face that was all high cheekbones and strong nose and sharply cut jaw. I’d seen men like this before, young and confident, working the beds or the schooners until they “found something better,” thinking already that they were meant to rule the world once everything fell into place. I was unmoved, too annoyed to be charmed by a pretty smile.
“I guess I have,” he said.
“Well, come on, then. But I warn you, you’ll only have a short time with her. I’ve things to do.” I gestured abruptly for him to follow.
He fell into step beside me as I took him over the hillocky yard. I glanced at his filthy boots, the mud-covered pants. “You come through the sloughs?”
He nodded. “From Bruceport.”
“No one told you to go by water?”
A wry smile. “No. They did point me in the right direction, though.”
“Not much of a direction. You don’t have a horse?”
“I walked.” He motioned to the mud on his trousers. “Not well, as you’ve no doubt noticed.”
“At least the tide was out. You could have drowned.”
“A blessing, I’m sure,” he said.
“Well, you’ll no doubt find the mummy worth the trip. Everyone seems to.”
“I’m sure I won’t be any different, Miss—”
“Russell. Leonie Russell.”
He frowned. “Are you his daughter?”
Dryly, I said, “Very flattering, I’m sure. I’m Junius’s wife.” I’d taken two steps before I realized he’d stopped.
“You’re his wife?” He frowned, and there was something about that look that was vaguely familiar. I had the thought that I must have met him before after all. But then the expression left him and he smiled—again with charm. This was a man whose smile had eased many difficulties, I realized. “Forgive me, but you don’t look old enough to be his wife.”
I gave him a polite smile in return. “I assure you I am. Have I seen you about? Do you know my husband, Mr.—”
“No. I just came up from San Francisco. I’d read about him and the mummy in the paper.”
“In San Francisco?”
He nodded. “The Morning Call.”
It had made the papers—of course it had, hadn’t I been expecting it? But that it had made it to San Francisco...that was farther than I’d expected, and more quickly than I’d anticipated. If news of this was in San Francisco, it was only a matter of time before Baird discovered what I’d found.
I hurried toward the barn as if my speed could somehow ease my sudden dread. When we were only a few yards from the open door, I called out, “Junius! June! There’s someone to see the mummy!”
No answer.
“I wonder where he’s got to?” I asked, even more irritated on top of being upset. I looked at the man beside me. “I’ll see if I can’t find him—”
“Perhaps you could show it to me in his stead,” he suggested.
I wanted to tell him no, but I had no idea where Junius was or when he would be back, and I wanted this man gone.
“Of course.” I grabbed the oil lamp from its nail and the matches settled on the edge of a crossbeam. He waited patiently while I lit it, and then I took him over to the sawhorse bed, where the mummy lay covered with a blanket. Not put away in the trunk after Junius had shown her, damn him. The only good thing about that was that it meant he couldn’t be far away.
I uncovered her and lifted the lamp to shine over the old leather of her skin, the fine black eyelashes and brows, the browning pegs of her few teeth. I felt that reverence again, that draw. I could not resist; gently I touched her hair, and I felt him go still beside me.
“She looks as if she’s only asleep,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“How did he find her?”
“It was me who found her, actually. Didn’t the newspaper article say?”
He shook his head. “It said that Junius Russell found a mummy near the Mouse River. Not much else.”
“Of course not.”
He eased closer, reaching out a hand, and I opened my mouth to tell him not to touch her, but then I didn’t say it. There was something about the way he went about it, as if he were afraid to startle, as if he knew it was discourteous an
d didn’t want to offend, and I found myself appreciating the gesture as if it were me he directed it to. “She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?”
I was surprised by his words. I looked at her again. Odd, yes. Compelling, certainly. But beautiful? The lamplight made her skin seem waxed. It brought out the reddish hue of her hair. The saffron cloth seemed to glow. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
He turned heavy-lidded blue eyes to me. “How old do you think she is?”
“Junius thinks before the Indians. But I’m not so certain.”
“Junius thinks? How would an oysterman know?”
“He and I...we collect relics for the National Museum. We’ve done so for years.”
“You do?” He looked surprised again. “The story didn’t mention that.”
“Apparently it didn’t mention a great deal.”
“I suppose not,” he said with a smile. He looked back at the mummy. “But you said you didn’t agree with him. About how old she is. Why not?”
“I don’t know enough yet. My father was an ethnologist. He taught me to observe before I jumped to conclusions, and I haven’t studied her enough yet to form an opinion.”
“You? You mean—”
“I’m an ethnologist as well.”
“But you’re—”
“A woman. Yes,” I said grimly, wishing he would leave. “Does that shock you?”
He shrugged. “I suppose that explains why the newspaper didn’t mention that you were the one to find it. I’ll have to set the record straight.”
“Set the record straight? What do you mean?”
“I’m a reporter. I’ve come to do a story on this.”
“I didn’t realize we had guests.” Junius’s voice startled us both. I turned to face the open barn door where he stood.
“There you are,” I said in relief. “This gentleman has come to see the mummy. He read about it in the newspaper. In San Francisco, Junius. He’s a reporter from—what paper did you say you were from?”
But the man ignored me. He was staring at Junius as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re Junius Russell?”
“I am.” Junius held out his hand. “At your service. And you are—?”
The young man did not extend his hand. “Daniel Russell. Your son.”
CHAPTER 4
THE WORDS FELL into silence. Daniel Russell was staring at my husband with something that looked like challenge in his eyes, and when I turned to Junius, stunned and expecting him to deny it, I saw that he looked at the young man—his son—the same way, with equal challenge and...and wariness too.
“You have a son?” I heard the rising hysteria in my voice.
Junius cut me off with a gesture. “I’ll explain later.”
“But—”
“Later.” He looked back at Daniel Russell. “Daniel. Well, well. Look at you. How old are you now? Why, you must be...twenty six?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Your mother?”
“Your wife is dead.” The word was blunt, uncompromising. “Last year.”
Wife. Yes, there’d been a wife, I remembered. A vague idea of a person, something I’d put on a shelf long ago, and not thought of since. I felt thrown back in time. I’m already married, Lea. She means nothing to me. I’ll take care of everything. Yes, I’d known about the wife. But a son...a son who would have been five or six when Junius had left them. He’d never told me there was a son. Why not?
“You know she waited for you. She never stopped waiting. But you never intended to return, did you?”
“But she knew,” I broke in, unable to help myself. “She knew not to wait, didn’t she?” I looked at Junius. “Didn’t she?”
Daniel looked at me. “You knew he was already married?”
Helplessly, I started to make the excuse that shamed me.
Junius held up a hand to stop me. “Leonie, please.”
But I’d had enough. “God damn you, Junius.”
I was out of the barn before he could say another word. I ran across the yard, past where Lord Tom sat on the porch. I was inside and nearly to the stairs before I heard the door slam behind me, before Junius caught up with me, pulling me to a stop. I wrenched loose. “Don’t touch me.”
“Lea, please. Let me explain.”
“You’ve had twenty years to explain.”
“It isn’t like that.”
I turned on him. “Then what is it like, Junius? Why tell me about a wife but not a son?”
He looked helpless and out of control, not the Junius I knew, but I was too angry and ashamed to soften. He said, “It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.”
“Your son didn’t matter.”
“I knew you wouldn’t leave it if I told you. I knew you’d tell me to go back. But you needed me, and...and Mary and I were done, Lea. We were done. I hoped she would think I was dead.”
I stared at him. This was not the man I knew. “But why?”
He swallowed, glancing away. “We’d married too young. Her parents disliked me. I was...restless. Couldn’t keep a job. We did nothing but argue. I thought they’d be better off without me.”
“But...your son,” I said, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with loss and absence, with the grief I thought I’d come to terms with, that I’d accepted. But that horrible sadness swept back, worse, because now I knew without a doubt that our lack was my fault. Mine. I had not had children, and I had kept him from the one he had.
“Lea,” he said softly. “I knew you would take it like this. I knew if I told you, you’d be...”
He was a blur in front of me. “Be what?”
“Don’t cry,” he said. “Lea, sweetheart. Please don’t cry.”
“You should have told me,” I managed.
“Why hurt you needlessly? I wasn’t going back. It would only have come between us.” He gathered me in his arms, and I found myself bending, melting into his chest, burying my face in his shirt. He whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you found out this way. I’ll send him away. You’ll never have to look at him again. I’ll go out there now and send him back to San Francisco.”
I shook my head against him. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
I pulled away, swiping my hand across my eyes. “You abandoned him. You can’t just send him away. You have to find out what he wants. You have to make it up to him. You would have gone back if not for me.”
“No—”
“I know you would have. You’re an honorable man.”
“Lea, for God’s sake. It’s long past time to make things up. I promise you he’s here because he wants something, no other reason. Let me find out what it is and send him on his way.”
I pulled away hard, stepping from the circle of his arms. “You talk as if he means to takes something from you.”
“Why else would he be here?”
“Perhaps to get to know his father.” I could not keep the bitterness from my voice.
Junius let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps. But I doubt it. Why don’t you let me find out what the hell he wants before you start thinking we need to make things up to him?”
“But we do,” I said softly, feeling my responsibility and my sorrow like a weight. “He’s your son.”
Junius gave me a troubled look. “You have a good heart, Lea. But there are some people who don’t deserve it.”
“You don’t know that he’s one of them.”
“You don’t know that he isn’t.” He dragged his hand through his hair and turned back to the door. His shoulders sagged, he looked tired and old. “I’m sorry, Leonie,” he said again. “You don’t know how much.”
But I was still angry and guilty and hurt, and I wondered which he was sorry for—not telling me about the son he’d abandoned, or for being caught in the lie?
I followed him out, back into the chill. Lord Tom was still on the porch, his chair angled back against the wall, his hat pulled low. He’d no doubt heard every word.
He tilted his hat back. He was frowning. “Your son is still in the barn.”
Junius went down the stairs. As I made to follow, Lord Tom reached out, touching my arm, stopping me. When I looked back at him, he said softly, “Bad luck.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said impatiently, but his words startled me; I looked at the barn, Junius striding toward the young man waiting inside.
Lord Tom said, “Kloshe nanitch, okustee.”
“Yes, of course I’ll be careful.” I pulled away, hurrying after my husband.
At the barn door, Junius paused, and I came up beside him. Daniel Russell was inside, as Lord Tom had said, and he was standing by the mummy, holding the lamp, looking at her with a kind of studious attention that made me pause, uncertain whether to be pleased or troubled. When he heard us, he turned around, lowering the lamp, and I found myself looking for Junius in him, some evidence of blood. He had the same color eyes, I realized, and that alone was enough to make my stomach sink. Junius’s son. Who was not mine.
Junius said, “I imagine that wasn’t the greeting you were hoping for, boy. I’m sorry for it. You...you caught me by surprise.”
Daniel glanced at me. He was nearly vibrating with anger. He glanced back at Junius. “I imagine so.”
Junius licked his lips a little nervously. “So I...what do you want from me?”
“Junius,” I warned.
“He’s come with some expectation, Lea, as I said. I just want to know what it is.”
“It’s all right,” Daniel said. “It’s a fair question. As it happens, I do want something.”
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