Bone River

by Chance, Megan

  “It was all a lie,” I said to him. “My whole life has been a lie.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying,” Junius told me.

  “It explains everything. The way I feel about things. What I know—”

  “Leonie, don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “What other conclusion can I make?”

  Again, that little flinch, that slip away.

  I rose. I grabbed his arm. “Junius, you know something. Tell me.”

  He pulled away.

  “I need to know,” I insisted. “Is it something about her?”

  “I knew your mother was Indian. But that’s all, Leonie. That’s all I knew. I didn’t know she came for you. Hell, I still don’t believe he would have killed her.”

  “Even if she threatened to take me away?”

  “He said she was a savage. She could never have taken you away. He didn’t need to kill her.” Junius frowned. “Don’t you see? No one would have let her take you.”

  “He never said a word to me,” I whispered. “He never told me.” I looked at Daniel, whose expression was carefully blank, that actor in him, the way he knew to shield his emotions, to admit nothing, to do whatever avails him...I turned away. “He should have told me!”

  Junius gave me an impatient look. “He couldn’t tell you. It would have ruined the—”

  Experiment.

  The word burst into my brain, even as he hadn’t spoken it. And it all settled into something I knew, every journal entry fallen into place.

  I was the experiment. Papa’s attempt to determine once and for all the question of blood and environment. His need to keep her silent, to keep me ignorant of my heritage, of everything I was.

  It explained everything. Everything I’d ever thought. My father’s fear over the way the Indian legends affected me. His pooh-poohing of my intrinsic knowledge of relics—the call of my mother’s blood, how he’d hated that I loved it here, the place where my mother was buried...Who I was, what I was, all those things Papa had tried to deny. My fierceness and my passion and the way he and Junius saw them as primitive traits, the dominance of my Indian blood, and how anxious they’d been to overcome it, to turn me into the respectable, staid white woman they’d wanted me to be.

  I looked at my husband in horror. “It was me, wasn’t it? The experiment was me?”

  He looked uncomfortable; he glanced away. “Don’t be absurd—”

  “You knew about it.”

  Now he looked at me again. He spread his hands. “No, of course not.”

  “You did, Junius.” I advanced upon him, not knowing what I meant to do, to say. “The journals say it. He says he told you. That you promised to help him. How was that? What help did you offer?”

  “Only to keep it secret. Only to observe.”

  I laughed bitterly. “You did much more than that. How could you have borne it? Marrying me knowing what I was?”

  “Lea, please. I love you.”

  “But you think I’m a savage, don’t you? How many times have you said it?”

  “Not you,” he insisted. He grabbed my hand, twisting his fingers hard into mine. “You were never that. It was remarkable, the influence your white blood had. We thought it might overcome the rest in time—with the right training. As long as there were no children, there was no reason for you to know.”

  His words brought Bibi’s sharply to mind. I wanted to cry. I wrenched my hand from his. “How lucky it was, then, that there weren’t any.”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “But how could you have known that? What would you have done if I’d conceived?”

  Now Junius looked uncomfortable. “Your father cautioned me...”

  I was crying.

  Junius said, “It was better this way, Lea. I promise you—”

  “Bibi says I’m with child,” I managed.

  Junius froze. “What?”

  At the same moment Daniel said, “Lea?”

  I could not bear to look at Daniel. To see the condemnation in his eyes, the disgust. I kept my gaze on Junius, who seemed to waver before me.

  “You’re what?” His voice was strangled. “You can’t be.”

  “She seemed certain,” I said.

  “You can’t be.”

  Daniel started toward me. “Is this true?”

  But he never got to me. Junius grabbed Daniel by the collar. “Do you know what the hell you’ve done?” he shouted. “You stupid boy, do you have any idea?”

  I grabbed Junius’s arm. “Junius, please. Please, don’t.”

  Junius shrugged me off in the same moment that Daniel pushed him away, his eyes blazing. “Don’t touch me, old man.”

  Junius barely stepped back. He spat in Daniel’s face, “You’ve ruined everything. From the day you first came here, you’ve done nothing but rile up things that should have been left alone.”

  “How inconvenient of me,” Daniel said. “Too bad you couldn’t just go on the way you had been, everyone doing what you wanted. You don’t even know what you have. You’re a selfish bastard. The thought of your blood polluting my veins makes me sick.”

  “Polluting.” Junius’s laugh was aborted and mean. “You’re the one who’s polluting. You couldn’t keep her from getting with child, could you? And now you’ve ruined everything—”

  “I don’t know that it’s his,” I said, stepping forward, coming between them. “It could be yours. It could—”

  “It’s not mine,” Junius snapped.

  I stared at him, confused. “But—”

  “It’s not mine. I’ve spent twenty years being certain of it, for Christ’s sake.”

  My ears began to buzz. The world went gray, the sound of the rain pounding against the house beat in time to my blood. I could not make sense of what he was saying. “I don’t understand.”

  His anger was ugly. “I’ve done what I could to keep you from getting pregnant. Do you understand that?”

  “But...but why?”

  “Because your father asked me to. Because it was part of the promise I made him. The experiment. He was afraid of what you would discover. He was afraid the baby would look Indian.” Junius looked at me, tense and miserable. He went on, “He told me you were a half-breed. He told me he’d originally meant to leave you with your mother, that he wanted nothing to do with a little savage. But you looked so white. You could pass. So he took you. He said your mother was...that she’d been a...temporary madness.”

  “A temporary madness,” I repeated numbly, sinking onto the settee.

  “He hated himself for it,” Junius said. “But you...you were the answer to a question he’d spent his life debating. How much does blood matter? Would it trump a white upbringing? If he treated you as if you were white, would that overcome the Indian part of you? Were you even capable of learning, or would the stain of your mother corrupt you?”

  I looked at Lord Tom, who watched stonily, and suddenly I realized that he had spent twenty years hearing these words, twenty years of silently bearing Junius and Papa and their ceaseless contempt for Lord Tom’s people. I said to him, “How could you listen to this? How could you stay?”

  Lord Tom met my gaze; I knew he understood. “For you, okustee.”

  Junius let out his breath. He looked at Daniel, who stood there, his fists half-clenched, and said with such disgust it startled me, “And as for you...you’ve ruined nearly forty years’ worth of work in a few months. A lifetime’s study, gone.”

  Daniel shook his head. “It’s not me who’s ruined things, old man. It’s you. You and her father. I’d feel sorry for you if I didn’t find you so pathetic.”

  I stared at my husband. “This is why you married me, isn’t it? Because Papa wanted you to continue the experiment?”

  “One of the reasons,” Junius said. “The others I’ve told you. I wanted you. I loved you.”

  “Loved?”

  “Love,” he said, and the truth of it was in his eyes. “I love you, Leonie. You know
that. I’m willing to forget all this, to forgive you—”

  “You love me, but you didn’t want to have a child with me.”

  His gaze begged me to understand. “The research was too promising. You were everything we’d hoped for, Lea. It was nearly time to write the paper. Your father’s experiment, my managing of it. I couldn’t take the risk that the child would be Indian. I couldn’t risk your knowing. I made a promise.”

  A promise. A lifetime of promises. I looked at Daniel, and I heard what he’d said to me only this morning: Promises to the dead. What if now that they’re gone they realize they were wrong?

  “I have dedicated my life to this,” Junius said, rising, stepping in front of me, blocking Daniel from my view. “You’re a scientist, Lea, you know the value of this. Can you blame me? Have I not taken care of you? Have I not loved you?”

  “You lied to her,” Daniel said softly.

  Junius turned to him. “And you didn’t?”

  Daniel laughed. “Well, I didn’t take away her life, did I?”

  “I gave her a life,” Junius spat. “What would she have been without me? A savage. A half-breed. I made her what she is. My wife. She’s respected, goddammit! Everything would have been fine if you’d stayed the hell in San Francisco. If not for the damned mummy—”

  “She wanted me to know the truth, Junius,” I said.

  “She’s a relic, Lea,” he snapped. “For God’s sake, why can’t you see that? Do I have to show you the truth?” He pushed past me. “She’s not what you think she is. She’s just a goddamned mummy.” He jerked open the door. The sound of rain, the rush of wind, the roar of the river. He was out on the porch, and for a moment I stood there, stunned. For a moment it didn’t occur to me what he meant to do. And then I heard the thud of the trunk lid against the house; I remembered Daniel dropping the saw there beside it.

  “No,” I said, whispering in horror. “He’s going to cut her apart.” I rushed to the door, and Daniel was beside me. Junius was already bending over the trunk, the saw in his hand. Daniel pushed by me, lunging across the porch, grabbing Junius’s arm to stop him.

  “Drop it,” he said.

  Junius wrenched away. He looked past Daniel to me. “There won’t be any viscera. You’ll see—”

  Daniel hit him. Junius staggered back, dropping the saw, and then recovered. He threw himself at Daniel, and then the two of them were falling against the porch rail, bouncing off, stumbling down the stairs. Daniel fell into the mud, into the puddles rapidly forming from the rain, and Junius was on top of him, slamming his fist into him, yelling something—the words swept away by rain.

  I screamed, “Junius, no!” and started toward the stairs, but Lord Tom pulled me back, holding me. When I tried to break loose, his hands tightened.

  Lord Tom said, “No, okustee. The river is rising.”

  I looked beyond Daniel and Junius. Lord Tom was right. The Querquelin was overfull and whitecapping, the wind whipping my hair around my head like the wild spirit of Yutilma, the water roaring and beyond that the darkness of the bay. I heard her voice in my head. The tide. Or perhaps it was only my own, but I knew it was the plus tide feeding too much water into a river already swollen. Too much water, and nothing could hold it all.

  Daniel was up now, grappling with Junius, the two of them splashing away from the house, toward the river, through ankle-deep water, and suddenly I was horribly, terribly afraid.

  I wrenched from Lord Tom, racing down the stairs, racing for them, and I wasn’t more than a few steps before I realized it was more than just puddling. The yard was flooding. The river had already overflowed its banks and was moving higher while I stood there. Shin deep, the rain bashing and heavy, pounding, and then Lord Tom was there, pulling me back again.

  I screamed, “Stop!” but my voice was lifted away by the wind. I shouted again, “Daniel!” and my voice whisked away like smoke. He didn’t hear me, and I couldn’t get closer. Lord Tom’s hold on me was unbreakable; he hauled me back to the porch—the house should be safe, the house was safe. On a rise, and just as I had the thought I heard a terrible sound—like the falling of a giant tree—and then the barn shuddered and went down and the river currents took it, a huge dark shadow on the water, swirling and churning. Itcixyan, the most powerful of the Chinook water spirits, crumbling the boards and beams into splinters.

  Daniel and Junius were thigh deep, closer to the river, below the rise.

  I looked at Lord Tom. “You have to stop them! Stop them!”

  “It is rising too quickly.” He sounded worried. He jerked his head, and I followed the motion to see that the river was coming steadily on—already lapping against the porch stairs.

  “The house will be safe,” I said, but he shook his head.

  “High ground, okustee,” he said, dragging me with him down the stairs, into the water, into the pounding rain, toward the back of the yard, the trees rising from the salt marsh.

  Lord Tom shoved me toward the woods. “Go. I’ll get them.”

  The water was knee deep, the current dragging so I must fight it, but I didn’t go until I saw him reach them. I saw him shout at them, but the wind stole his words. I saw him gesture to me, the paleness of Daniel’s face in the darkness as he turned toward me, and then the three of them were struggling through the currents, and we made our way toward the trees, the greater rise that climbed to the hill behind the house. Once I was there, I fell against a cedar, my skirts sodden and heavy, my boots full of water, the rest of me wet with the pouring rain, the chill creeping into my bones.

  Junius and Daniel and Lord Tom stumbled up behind me. Junius shouted, “We should be at the house! The river won’t rise so far!”

  I said, “It already has. Look!”

  He turned to see. Water rising past the root cellar, lapping at the boards. “The bones,” he said.

  And I remembered her. The trunk on the porch.

  “Oh dear God,” I gasped, and when Junius strode to the edge of the rise, I was with him. “My mother.”

  Lord Tom said, “No, okustee. She belongs to the river. She would want you to be safe. For tenas yaka tenas klootchman.”

  Her granddaughter.

  Daniel’s daughter.

  He was right, I knew. Junius shook his head. “It’s not too late. I can get them all.”

  Daniel shouted, “Are you mad? Leave them. It’s too dangerous.”

  Lord Tom grabbed Junius’s arm. “The river will take back what it wants.”

  Junius jerked away. “I haven’t spent the last months collecting those things to give them back to the river.”

  “You cannot go, sikhs.”

  I forgot my anger. I forgot the lies Junius had told me, the things he’d said. All I knew were twenty years of habit. Twenty years of loving him. I rushed to him. “Junius, he’s right. Leave them!”

  He looked at me, his face grim.

  I clutched his arm. “You can’t go!”

  He looked over my head. “Get her off me, boy.”

  I dug my fingers into his arm. “I won’t let you go.”

  He pulled himself loose and strode quickly toward the water, and I rushed after him, plunging in after him, and then suddenly there was Daniel, grabbing me, holding me.

  “Don’t let him go,” I said desperately.

  “You can’t go after him.” Daniel’s voice was low and urgent, his arms like iron, holding me in place. The wind whipped his soaking hair into his face, which was pale with cold and wet, stark. I looked helplessly toward Junius, fighting his way through the river, hip deep.

  “He’ll die there.”

  Daniel dragged me back. He bent to look me in the eyes. “I’ll go after him. I’ll bring him back. But Lea, you have to stay. Promise you won’t follow me, no matter what happens.”

  “He won’t listen to you.”

  His smile was grim. “If he doesn’t, he’ll drown. And believe me, he won’t let me win so easily.”

  “Daniel, no.” I clutched at
him.

  “I promise I’ll be back,” he said. “We’ve things to talk about, you and I.”

  I could not release my grip on his shirt. He peeled away my fingers. He looked past me to Lord Tom. “Don’t let her follow.”

  Then he raced after his father, and soon all I could see was the white of their shirts in the darkness, and then they were rounding the house and there was nothing to see at all.

  The river was climbing, sucking everything into it, the plus tide and the storm and my own desires crashing and swallowing. Lord Tom came to stand beside me, his hand on my arm as if he meant at any moment to drag me back, as if it might become necessary to anchor me. I watched for any sign of them. I strained to see. There was only darkness and water, the faint light from the house. “Where are they?” I asked. “What’s taking them so long?”

  I did not take my eyes from the house, from the light glowing from the windows, my hope that I would see one of them within it, or that I would see them coming back, Junius persuaded, Daniel keeping his promise. I could see almost nothing beyond that, not through the crashing rain, the whip of the wind in the trees above my head, but I was watching so carefully it was a moment before I heard the sound. Thunder, a terrible creaking groan, an unappeased roar. It was a moment before I realized what it was, a moment before I comprehended the house rising as if it were being lifted in Itcixyan’s palm, and then collapse as if he’d crushed it in his fingers.

  I screamed out, “Daniel!” and lurched forward, and it was only Lord Tom’s hold that kept me there. What was left of the house crumpled and broke, swirling in the currents of the river like toothpicks, swept away. The lie of my life washed away by the river, which had indeed taken back its own, and I didn’t realize how I was struggling until Lord Tom pulled me hard into his arms and I went limp, staring blindly at the spot where the house had been, where I had last seen them.

  “No,” I whispered desperately. “No. No. You gave him to me.”

  Lord Tom said, “Okustee, the canoe.”

  I looked to where he pointed, where a dark shadow nudged the bank where we stood. The canoe, insistent and relentless as if to say here I am. Let me save you.