Wild Flower

by Abbie Williams

  “Thank you,” I said, both amused and touched by these words; his tone indicated he meant them as a compliment. “She is a very pretty horse.”

  “My mom died,” he said next, startling me.

  “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know exactly how to respond, but he continued as though I hadn’t spoken; maybe what he really needed was someone to simply listen.

  “Mama died in a car accident. She wasn’t old enough to die, but she did anyhow. Dad explained that sometimes people die even when they aren’t old and sick, but I still don’t understand.”

  I wanted to tell sweet Wyatt that I didn’t understand, either, that sometimes the world was a fucked-up place that robbed children of their mothers and separated two people who wanted nothing more than to love each other. That no matter how much time passed and how many well-meaning people tried to explain it to him, there was no good answer for why his mother was gone. I missed Millie Jo with an increasing ache, feeling every single mile that separated me from my daughter; suddenly it seemed as though we’d been gone from Minnesota for months instead of just a few days.

  “Mama died right after Marshall turned eighteen, and that’s why he hates his birthday now,” Wyatt continued. “You know what’s weird, I don’t remember the day that Mama died, I only remember Marshall’s birthday.” He sighed, gathering tighter Oreo’s reins. “Dad said that’s all right if I can’t remember it. He tells me about Mama whenever I ask. Sometimes my brothers tell me about her, and sometimes they tell me to get lost.” As if concerned that I might harbor the wrong idea, he said earnestly, “But they watch out for me real good. They don’t let anything hurt me, if they can help it.”

  “You’re lucky for that,” I said softly, watching him as he spoke; in the space of five minutes, this kid had already unknowingly claimed a spot in my heart. His narrow little face was shadowed by his hat brim, dark eyes solemn, his nose already beginning to dominate his face, just like Clark’s and all his brothers’. Unkempt brown hair hung down his neck. I felt another pang, wanting to find a comb and some scissors, and trim him up.

  “I s’pose,” he said.

  We rode in silence for a time, the guys perhaps fifty feet paces of us, laughing and enjoying one another’s company. I studied Mathias as he rode, fantasizing what it would feel like to sit in front of him on his horse, riding together. It struck me as incredibly intimate and romantic, like our winter picnics to watch the aurora. As though sensing the heat of my thoughts, he looked back and blew me a kiss. I was so absorbed with the thought of riding double that I hardly heard the boy’s next words.

  “Wait, what did you say?” I asked.

  “I see her, too,” Wyatt said again, and my eyes snapped to his face.

  “See who?” I whispered.

  Looking at the horizon, he murmured, “Cora. I never said anything to Daddy or the others because I was afraid they would be mad and think I was just trying to get attention. But I’m not.”

  “What did she tell you?” I’d drawn on Sunny’s reins without realizing, and the mare obediently halted, prompting Wyatt to do the same. The horses shifted their hooves beneath us, lowering their heads to nibble at the grass as I studied him intently.

  “I’ve seen her two times now,” he said, looking worried; immediately I softened my expression. “I know Garth said he was dreaming when he saw her when he was little, but I think he was just too scared to admit that she’s not a dream. She comes and sits on my bed. I see her weird eyes, but they don’t scare me. The first time, she touched my hair. She didn’t say a thing. But then the next time she told me she was trapped. I think…I think she’s been trapped for a long time.”

  “Trapped?” I demanded. “Where? How? Did she tell you anything else?”

  “Somewhere around here. Far, but not too far. That’s all I know.”

  “Anything else?” I was desperate for more.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Dammit, Cora, I thought then, aggravated. Dammit. Can’t you be a tiny bit more specific?

  “I’m glad you told me,” I said to Wyatt. “Thank you.”

  “I never believed in ghosts until I saw her,” he said. “Do you think everyone who’s died is trapped here, somewhere?”

  His question tore at my heart. “No. No, of course not. I think that when there’s a ghost, it’s because there’s unfinished business associated with it. Like with Cora.” It was such a cliché answer but I wanted him to be comforted; certainly he was thinking of his own mother with this question; and to some extent, it really was what I believed to be true about ghosts.

  He nodded, seeming satisfied.

  “Case said my mama and his mama are in heaven together,” Wyatt said. “That they talk together, up there, and can see what we’re doing down here.”

  “Case’s mom died, too? When was that?”

  “Back a long time ago. Her heart was sick, that’s what Case told me. And him and Gus’s dad is white trash. That’s what all the ladies in town say, anyway.”

  “They do?” I asked, indignant, and startled once again. Wyatt was a virtual font of information, go figure. Little kids always knew more than adults gave them credit.

  “What’s that mean, ‘white trash?’ ” he asked next.

  “Well…” I hesitated. Searching for a suitable response proved more difficult than I would have imagined. At last I settled upon, “It’s a mean way of saying that someone is poor, usually.”

  “Daddy doesn’t believe that they’re white trash.” Wyatt shifted in his saddle. “Case and Gus are the best friends we have. We love them. They do pretty much live with us. Their pa doesn’t care what they do. He doesn’t watch out for them. Daddy says it’s because he’s haunted.”

  “Haunted?” I thought, Kid, you are full of surprises.

  “That’s what Daddy says. Not by Cora, though, I don’t think,” Wyatt said in all seriousness. “By other things. Daddy says old Mr. Spicer has a demon, that’s what.”

  I shuddered a little at this phrasing.

  Wyatt whispered, “I don’t know how you get yourself one of those, but it sounds scary.”

  “It does,” I agreed. There were far too many demons in the world, real or imagined, as this young boy already understood. To lighten the air, I said, “So, we sang for quite a crowd last night! You should have been there.”

  “Garth and Marsh said you guys were really good. I bet that’s fun, up on the stage. We sing at home, all the time.”

  “I guess we’re singing again tonight.” And I felt a ribbon of excitement at the idea, despite everything. “Maybe Clark can bring all of you to watch.”

  Wyatt bounced in his saddle. He cried, “Will you ask him, please? Please with a cherry on top? You’re so pretty Daddy won’t be able to say no to you, I know it.”

  I giggled at his confidence in my feminine wiles. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

  Late afternoon light dusted the landscape, the sunbeams tinted auburn by the time we got back to the homestead. My legs were sore from gripping the saddle all day, as I informed Mathias.

  “I’m a little bowlegged, now that you mention it,” he said, helping me down from Sunny’s back. He kissed me flush on the lips, then brushed dust from my face. “That was great. You and Wyatt seemed to be having quite a conversation.”

  “We were. I’ll have to tell you about it,” I said.

  “You up for singing again tonight?” he asked, and I grinned, removing his hat and roughing up his hair.

  I murmured, “Yes, and tonight let’s keep the hat, what do you say?”

  His dimple flashed. “Your wish is my command, honey. I seem to remember making you a promise last night…”

  “Hey, you two are gonna scare the horses,” Case teased, coming to take Sunny’s reins, leading Buck by a long rope.

  “Showtime in two hours,” Garth added, grinning happily at us, leaning on his forearms over Sunny’s broad back. “Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?”

  The Spoke wa
s as familiar as an old friend, warm and inviting with its wagon-wheel tables and flickering lanterns, the bar full to bursting. I dressed in jeans and a red blouse with short, fluttery sleeves, and kept my hair loose over my shoulders. Clark lent me a pair of hammered-copper bracelets, which he explained had once belonged to his grandma; they jangled merrily on my right wrist. Mathias was decked in his cowboy hat and faded jeans, as were Case, Marshall, and Garth, and I felt like a celebrity as we entered the little bar to deafening whistles, cheers, and hollers.

  “Our reputation precedes us,” Garth joked, waving and grinning, already working the crowd, which grew until the double doors leading to a small brick patio had to be opened.

  Clark had required little convincing to bring the entire family. We needed a table for ten to accommodate our group and as we sat in the glow of the neon beer signs, multicolored string lights, and flickering candle lanterns, I couldn’t stop smiling, buoyed by the company and the entire joyful atmosphere. The Rawleys were the brothers I’d always wished I had. Wyatt insisted on sitting beside me, and so he was on my left and Mathias my right; Case sat directly across from us.

  “Are you nervous tonight?” I asked Mathias, leaning against him so he would kiss my face. I loved that about him; whenever I leaned close, I could count on his kisses.

  He kissed my temple. “A little. Nothing like last night, though. I didn’t quite think I’d make it.”

  “I’ll join you guys halfway through,” I said. “I want to watch for a while.”

  “Thirty minutes ’til we’re on!” Case said, flicking a french fry at us.

  The show brought down the house. I joined the guys partway through, as promised, though my presence was much in demand on the dance floor; Clark’s boys had clearly been schooled in old-fashioned dance steps, even Wyatt, and I took turns with each of them. They kept cutting in on each other to dance with me, and I felt more like Millie from Seven Brides than ever.

  Tish and Ruthie should be here, I thought again, missing them. As I watched Mathias singing with Garth while Case and Marshall played, I was struck with the sense, strong and true, that our men were up there, and my sisters weren’t even here to see. Ruthie would love the music— and my gaze darted to Marshall, grinning as he rocked out on the drums; he was completely at home on stage. Even Tish would have to admit she was having a good time—and I looked at Case, who was playing his bass guitar with a somber expression, eyes closed, totally into the music.

  October, I reminded myself. They’ll all come to Landon for the wedding. Case and Marsh can meet them then.

  By the time we made it back to the Rawleys’ house, it was near to three in the morning and Mathias all but carried me to bed. In the morning we would be traveling farther west, on to Harry and Meg Carter, and, I prayed, more answers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “LET‘S PLAN TOMORROW FOR THE GIRLS’ NIGHT,” JO SAID Friday evening, a few hours after we’d bid our families farewell. They weren’t headed far, as it was just over thirty miles to Itasca State Park, a longtime favorite camping destination of the Miller family. Jo swept her hair into a loose ponytail and fanned the back of her neck with its length, adding, “I’m beat. I need a night to myself, sunk in my tub.”

  “Can we do pedicures and stuff?” I teased my sister. I missed her, and almost asked if I could stay at her house tonight anyway. It wasn’t as though it was very far through the woods from my own. But she needed time to herself, too; not that she would get lots of that with both Tish and Ruthann also in the cabin. Jo and I sat at a porch table as the sun slowly sank; there were a handful of customers in the bar, lingering over a last drink, but we’d both closed out all of our tickets and so were free to relax. The air was ashen with the warm dusk, as still as a photograph.

  “Of course,” Jo said. She tapped her lips with her index finger and I knew she craved a smoke as much as me at this moment. She murmured, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what Noah told you yesterday. I know Camille doesn’t want to hear it, but she needs to. I understand where she’s coming from, though. Noah abandoned her and Millie. She’s supposed to leap back into his arms when he decides he’s changed his mind?”

  “No, of course not. I just feel bad that Noah understands Camille wishes she didn’t have to deal with him, you know? That’s not exactly something you want to hear.”

  “You think I don’t get it?” Jo griped, taking a long drink of her beer. “Jackie tries to play the guilt card every time I have to be in the same room with him. Shit, like at Tish and Clinty’s grad party. What a joke. Thank goodness Blythe doesn’t let Jackie upset him so much anymore.”

  “Yeah, Jackie was asking to get his ass kicked that afternoon,” I reflected. “I can’t see Noah ever getting to that level. I mean, you and Jackie have a history. Noah and Camille were never truly together. They made a beautiful little girl, but they weren’t ever married. Noah doesn’t have the same motivation as Jackie. And I think Noah’s finally just realizing his mistake.”

  “Can you see Noah and Camille together though, truly? I can’t,” Jo said. “It just seems wrong. I have never seen Camille as happy as she’s been since last December. Mathias just loves her to pieces. And she loves him the same way.”

  “I know she does,” I said; why did my heart feel the need to seize up a little, as though in fear? I shoved the feeling aside and whispered, “I just hope they find something on their trip. Some sort of definitive answer, so she can rest. She’s so worried.”

  “She’s always been a worrier,” Jo noted, sighing a little. “It’s being the oldest daughter that does it.”

  “Yes, we second daughters have nothing to worry about.” I infused overt sarcasm.

  “You know that’s not what I mean. Gran would know what I mean,” Jo said. She let her hair fall back over her shoulders, with another sigh, and I almost damned it all and went to root out the pack of cigarettes I knew was tucked behind the bar. Talking about Gran made me want to smoke more than ever.

  “That’s funny,” I said. “I was missing Gran and Minnie so much yesterday. I always miss them, beneath the surface, but yesterday it hit me especially. It makes me want to be around the old house, you know?”

  Jo nodded, her eyes misting with tears. “I miss them so much, too. And Gran passed so quickly, we didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. I still sometimes forget she’s gone, that she won’t be sitting at table three in the mornings, drinking her coffee.”

  “Yeah, I know.” My throat tightened with pain.

  “We were lucky to have her as long as we did.” Jo curled her hand over mine. “I love you, Jilly Bean. I’m sorry about everything. I know you were just worried the other night, speaking of worry.”

  I twined my fingers through hers. “I know. I love you, too. And I’m sorry I was acting like such a bitch.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your mind,” she allowed.

  “Well, if Justin was in jail for some reason, I would accept collect calls from him morning, noon, and night, just to hear his voice. It would kill me otherwise,” I said, trying for a little teasing, though I meant what I said one hundred percent.

  Jo leaned and kissed my forehead. “Thanks, Jills.”

  I found Mom and told her I was going to sleep at her house this evening if that was all right, and she replied, “Well, that’s just wonderful. I made a pan of caramel brownies today.”

  “You know that was part of my motivation to stay over.”

  A few hours later I was snug in my pajamas, and Mom, Ellen, and I had eaten the entire pan of brownies. Contentedly drowsy, I lingered at the kitchen table with a last cup of decaf. The light over the stove still glowed, creating a cozy glow in the room; Mom and Aunt Ellen had retired to bed though it wasn’t particularly late, only around eleven or so—but it had been a long week. I was just about to head upstairs to crash in mine and Jo’s old bedroom when I realized my cell phone was still on the counter beside the till, back in the cafe.

  Dammit.

  I wan
ted to talk to my husband, to make sure they were settled in over at Itasca. I couldn’t even use a phone here in the house, as Mom and Ellen decided just last year that they were sick of paying for landline service in the house, when there was a perfectly good phone in the cafe. Mom kept a cell phone for emergencies, but I would bet she hadn’t placed a call from it even once since purchasing it last year. I was pretty sure it was lying dead in a drawer somewhere, all but forgotten.

  It’s just a minute walk to Shore Leave. And it’s beautiful out.

  I grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and shrugged into it as I made my way over the lake path. Shore Leave was comfortingly familiar in the moonlight as I climbed the porch steps and used the key I’d carried in my pocket to unlock the door and slip inside. Even though I knew the space well enough that a light wasn’t necessary, I clicked on one of the overheads. The dining room smelled slightly yeasty, of fried fish and beer, and seemed lonely in the perfect stillness of the night hours, devoid of its usual happy chatter and clutter. I glanced at table three with the overwhelming feeling that if I’d looked only a second faster, I would have spied Gran. A cold shiver rattled my limbs and seemed to explode in my nape—was Gran trying to tell me something?

  Jeez, Jillian! Quit spooking yourself!

  I’d done enough of that lately.

  Even so, I collected my phone in a hurry and was about to scramble back to the house when I noticed that the message light on the answering machine connected to the cafe phone was blinking. My cell phone showed a missed call from Justin and I would bet that he’d tried to call me here, to let me know that they had arrived safely at Itasca. I leaned over the counter and pressed the playback button, a little reluctant to turn my back on table three. The first message was from a restaurant supply distributor with a solicitation, and I erased it at once. A man’s voice I didn’t know came on next, and my finger was poised to delete this call, too, but then I realized it was someone from Moorhead State University, returning Mom’s call.

  “…calling for Joan Davis. I apologize that I didn’t respond yesterday but I was out of the office. Ms. Davis, I am quite disturbed by your message, for two reasons. First, we had a Zack Dixon here as a graduate student last spring. He was kicked out of the program, for reasons I can’t disclose. But I assure you, he is a person to avoid. And secondly, I’m concerned that someone is in your area claiming to be from our institution. We have no students in Beltrami County conducting research. Please feel free to call me in the morning to chat further regarding this matter.”