Orphan Maker

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Again she stopped Tempest, this time dismounting to get a closer look at the damage. With ten strong bodies and three carts they could clear enough of a path for the widest of wagons. She pulled the scrap of paper and pencil stub from her back pocket to scribble notes. Trees could be dropped to use as braces or wedges to protect the lane. They’d have to be careful not to take the easy route and drop the debris into the river. A dam could cause flood damage in the valley, create a pond or lake for mosquitos to plague them. Once the road was clear, they could run up to three major expeditions before winter came. If Lindsay Crossing agreed to the one house/one family rule there, goods would be available for at least another five years before serious weather damage and rot would remove them from consideration forever.

  A rumble of thunder brought Loomis’s attention. She peered through the canopy of leaves into the gray sky. “Guess it’s time to head back, huh?” Tempest whickered, nudging her shoulder. She chuckled and took a moment to pet his nose before digging out her rain gear. Once mounted, she turned him back toward Lindsay Crossing. Running away wasn’t an option, at least not yet. Maybe when the Gatos were settled she could reconsider striking out on her own—when Megan was old enough to be more help, when Rick was old enough to take her place. Until then, she needed to concentrate on surviving.

  And that meant steering clear of Gwen.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Loomis returned just before dark with the rain and wind whipping her. The storm raged with such fury that everyone had been worried as her absence stretched on. The tightness in Gwen’s chest lessened at the sight of the bedraggled traveler. As much as she wanted to rush forward to help Loomis out of the dripping clothes and to the warm fire, Gwen remained at the dining table dicing potatoes for supper while Cara fussed over Loomis. Gwen’s presence wasn’t missed. Loomis didn’t bother to look at or speak to her at all. Have I fucked it up forever? Loomis had put her on the spot after the meeting; Gwen’s lie had been childish, an automatic reaction to avoid a spanking. She mourned her stupidity as she finished with the potatoes, handing the pot to Heather.

  The rest of the evening followed the normal rhythms to which Gwen had become accustomed. Cara and Heather cooked supper with assistance from Lucky and Emerita. Megan and Delia played with Franklin. Loomis and the boys went out to the sheep barns to prepare the animals for the stormy night and begin Tommy Boy’s lessons in animal husbandry. Gwen joined them, but remained silent witness to their discussions. Loomis wouldn’t look at her, and Gwen didn’t push the issue. She mentally chewed on Loomis’s behavior, wondering if the avoidance technique was because she was furious or had given up on their friendship. In the horse barn, Rick introduced Tommy Boy to Starkey. Gwen slipped inside Tempest’s stall, stroking his sleek neck as he munched on the hay Loomis had given him when she’d returned. She leaned her forehead against him, smelling horse and hay, hearing Rick’s voice discuss horses in general and answering Tommy Boy’s rudimentary questions. Kevin and Terry threw a bale of hay down from the loft, and Gwen looked up to see Loomis watching her, catching a pained expression before she turned away.

  Supper was served around the large wooden table, the benches easily able to hold the entire homestead and their guests. It was probably the first time since the plague that the entire table was occupied. Gwen responded to questions, but remained aloof as she watched the developing dynamics. The suspicious glare on Tommy Boy’s face had softened as his guard came down. Rick and Cara helped by slowly pulling him into their conversations. Emerita, Lucky and Heather chattered back and forth about children. The kids teased and bragged, their current mealtime game consisted of seeing who could make Franklin laugh so hard that milk spurted out his nose. Loomis and Gwen remained distant from the community and each other.

  After the leftovers were put away and the cleanup completed, everyone gathered in the living room for the nightly reading. Gwen could tell that Tommy Boy thought this ritual was silly—right up until the time he became as engrossed as everyone else in the action of the book from which Loomis read. Even Franklin stared at her as she spoke. Gwen closed her eyes, focusing on Loomis’s voice. She could almost forget their argument that afternoon, and she entertained herself with their morning kiss.

  Inevitably, story time ended. Gwen was drafted into helping make a pallet in the living area for Tommy Boy and Emerita. Loomis and Rick put the children to bed. For a change, Gwen and Loomis arrived in their room at the same time. They awkwardly circled each other as they located their nightclothes. Gwen was certain that if Tommy Boy’s family hadn’t been outside their door, Loomis would have immediately fled. Instead, they turned their backs to one another to dress, and Gwen burrowed into the bed, not commenting on the hesitant movement of Loomis following suit. Gwen listened to the faint rasp of paper, knowing Loomis had opened a book. For the longest time silence filled the room, interspersed with the gentle creaks and thumps of an old cabin standing stalwart against stormy winds. Gwen stared at the wall as she heard no pages turning. She envisioned Loomis staring blankly at the book, lost in her violent memories. This morning Gwen had imagined tonight so much differently. She’d hoped to get at least a couple of sweet buttery kisses, to hold Loomis as she fell asleep, to protect Loomis and feel safe herself. Now she could hardly relax, and knew Loomis wasn’t doing much better.

  “I’m sorry, Marissa,” she whispered.

  Only a faint gasp let her know she’d been heard. A long silence followed. One of the girls coughed overhead. She heard Tommy Boy’s voice urging Franklin to be still and go to sleep. A spatter of rain knocked on the small bedroom window. Gwen had about given up hope of response when Loomis answered.

  “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

  Gwen’s eyes closed in relief. She wanted to turn around, to hold Loomis, but remained still. Loomis reacted to emotional threat with avoidance. Maybe she would consider talking about their spat in the morning. Things always looked better in daylight than in darkness. “Good night.”

  Another pause. “Pleasant journeys.”

  With a sigh, Gwen relaxed, allowing the afternoon’s tension to finally drift away.

  ***

  Gwen lay in silence, watching Loomis thrash in the throes of her nightmare. This was one of the worst she’d seen to date. She felt a measure of guilt, wondering if being busted poking her nose into Loomis’s business was the cause. Until now she’d been, if not content, then resigned to allow Loomis to work through the nightmare until she woke herself up. Maybe that was the wrong tactic. Rick’s ritualistic response suggested that no one had ever bothered to wake Loomis, to save her from the terrors of her memories. Sitting up, Gwen rose to her knees and put out a hesitant hand. Where should I touch her? Blocking a flailing arm might make Loomis think of being restrained; nudging her in the side could be considered an attack. Gwen nibbled her lower lip, finally settling her hand lightly on Loomis’s shoulder. She shook it gently, the movement hardly registering against the twisting Loomis. “Marissa.” There was no response except a guttural moan, and Gwen shook her harder. “Marissa, wake up.”

  “No! Leave him alone! He’s got nothing to do with this!”

  “Marissa!”

  The combination of a hard shake and raised voice succeeded. “Back off. Get out!” Loomis shot out of bed, fighting off Gwen’s touch. She became aware of her surroundings as she panted in the center of the room, staring at Gwen.

  “It’s okay, Loomis. You’re okay.” A light tap on the door made Gwen look away. At least he was consistent.

  “Marissa?” Rick asked. “You okay?”

  The habitual practice soothed the wildness from Loomis’s eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “All right. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  As Rick’s footsteps shuffled away, Gwen sat back on her heels. “Come back to bed.”

  Loomis ran a hand through her hair then dropped it to her face to rub her eyes. “No, I’ll be okay. I’ll just—”

  “Just what? Wake up Tommy Boy an
d his family?” Gwen cocked her head. “That’s if they ain’t awake already.”

  The reminder of their guests caused Loomis to frown. In Gwen’s experience Loomis had yet to go back to sleep after the nightmare. Having Tommy Boy and Emerita in the other room might be a blessing in disguise. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

  Reluctance in every line of her body, Loomis shuffled back to the bed. Gwen lifted the covers and helped her climb beneath them. Her initial relief vanished at Loomis’s stiffness. Taking a deep breath, she refused to let her friend’s upset cow her. She reminded herself of their one kiss. Rather than lay without touching beside Loomis, she cuddled close, one hand gently stroking Loomis’s bicep. They lay in silence for several minutes before Loomis’s tension began to ease. As the rock-hard muscle beneath her fingers became more pliant, Gwen braced herself for the fight ahead. She didn’t speak until Loomis tentatively touched Gwen’s hand. “You’re safe.” Loomis’s fingers convulsed, and Gwen snagged them in a light hold. “You are safe. You’re with your family and friends and people who love you, Marissa. There’s nobody here to hurt you anymore.” She paused. “Riddick’s not here anymore.”

  Loomis snatched her hand out of Gwen’s grasp, sliding away from her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Gwen’s first inclination was to reach out for Loomis. Right now the nightmares and memories were too close, and any physical conflict would result in a flashback. Gwen sat up. “That’s the problem, Marissa. That’s why you keep having the nightmares, why you don’t get more than a few hours of sleep a night unless you get drunk on that shit you picked up at Festival yesterday.”

  Turning onto her side, Loomis presented her back to Gwen and didn’t answer.

  “God, you’re stubborn,” Gwen whispered under her breath. She gritted her teeth, trying to think of an angle. “You’re not the only one that happened to, you know. I bet most girls our age have been raped.” Loomis shivered, tugging the blanket up hard around her shoulders. “Yeah. Raped. I was. I know how it feels, Marissa. I’ve been there too.” Loomis didn’t move, and Gwen lightly touched the tense shoulder, ignoring the flinch. “You have to talk about it.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Gwen gripped Loomis’s shoulder. “You do, damn it. You’ve let that bastard ruin your life for the last five years. Why let it go on?”

  Still no response. A flash of annoyance and fear rushed through Gwen as she debated pushing on or not. The right thing to do, the one that would guarantee her remaining a member of the Loomis household consisted of dropping the subject, letting the hot mess Marissa Loomis had become to continue. If it had been Weasel in a similar situation, Gwen would have dropped it already. She couldn’t do that here. Despite the threat of being evicted from a place she was beginning to think of as home, she had to try to get through. Loomis was pure, a good soul; she didn’t deserve this shit storm hanging over her head, day in and day out. “Yours happened in November, right? Mine was in October that year. I pissed Beau off, and he beat and tapped me in front of everybody. He let his friends bang me too. I almost died.” Gwen fought off the tears, angry at the sudden weakness. It had taken six days for the bleeding to stop. A six-year-old had saved her life by sneaking behind Beau’s back to help her, feed her, bring her water. She sniffled once, wiping her face with a sleeve of her nightshirt, and stared at the unmoving woman beside her. “The baby died.”

  Loomis finally turned, staring over her shoulder at Gwen, horror on her face.

  “That’s why he got mad. I told him I was pregnant.” Gwen laughed bitterly, wiping at her eyes. “He made sure that didn’t happen. And I made sure to leave him as soon as I could stay on my feet.”

  “I’m sorry, Gwen.” Loomis sat up, turning toward her. “I’m so sorry.”

  Gwen fought off the kindness, slapping Loomis’s hand away from her. “I ain’t looking for pity. I’m telling you so you understand. You have to talk about what happened!”

  Loomis pulled back, hurt on her face. “No, I can’t. Not ever.”

  “It’s killing you, Marissa. Can’t you see that?”

  “You don’t understand!” Loomis jumped out of bed again, marching toward the wardrobe.

  Gwen scrambled to the foot of the bed. “Then make me understand. Tell me. How is what happened to you so different than the experience I had, than a hundred other girls had at the same time and have every day since the plague? How?”

  Climbing into her pants, Loomis angrily pulled the suspenders up over her nightshirt. “Shut up.” She grabbed a heavy sweater.

  “No, I won’t shut up. Open your eyes. I’m right here. I’ll help you. I hate seeing you like this.”

  Loomis spun around, glaring at Gwen as she pulled her sweater on over her nightclothes. “You sure it isn’t just because you think I can protect you, that I’m a leader in this community? You only came here because you want power.” She gave a derisive laugh as she picked up her boots. “The joke’s on you, isn’t it? I’m just a manipulative bitch like you are, not a leader. Not the power you were looking for. Maybe you should go back to Weasel.”

  Gwen gaped as Loomis threw open the door and left. She heard Emerita soothe a whimpering Franklin, only then realizing that she and Loomis had been shouting. The front door of the cabin slammed shut. Before Gwen could think to follow, Cara materialized barefoot in the bedroom doorway looking ethereal in her nightgown, her auburn hair flowing free.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  Sullen in the face of the accusatory stare aimed at her, Gwen looked away. “None of your business.”

  “Wrong.” Cara marched forward. “You made it my business when you attacked my cousin and woke up the whole house to do it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Liar! She just had a nightmare, and you went poking and prodding into things you ought not to. Admit it.”

  Gwen glared at the finger waving under her nose. “Cara.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Cara bent down to glare directly into Gwen’s eyes. “I told you not to say that name in my house and I meant it. I didn’t hear it this time, but if I find out you’re defying me, I’ll have your carcass hauled off to town before you can spit. Do you understand me?”

  At least the finger was gone. The temptation to reach out and bite Cara’s nose instead was still as strong. “I understand.”

  “Just so we’re clear.”

  As much as Gwen wanted to argue, she knew better. Cara ruled the cabin. Gwen had no idea if she’d ever banished a person from the homestead before, and didn’t want to test the possibility. She realized it wouldn’t change her desire to get Loomis alone, to get her to express the emotions she’d kept bottled up all these years. Loomis deserved a life without that festering, soul-sucking wound inside her.

  Cara studied her a long moment before deciding her message had sunk in. She turned and left the bedroom, making a visible attempt to not slam the door as she left.

  A vision of living in another homestead filled Gwen’s mind. Even if it held one of the town council or Weasel, she knew she wouldn’t be interested in them. Not like she was interested in Loomis. She climbed out of bed, knowing she wouldn’t get any more sleep tonight. As she dressed, her eyes kept drifting toward the small window, wondering where Loomis went. Probably to one of the barns. Gwen tidied the bed then sank to the floor, fingers picking at the ridges of the rag rug. No, if she got evicted from the Loomis homestead, she’d still be fascinated with Marissa Loomis. She’d still want to help Loomis through this emotional minefield. The memory of their morning kiss brushed across her mind as her fingers touched her lips. This went beyond being drawn to power.

  Loomis was a friend.

  ***

  Loomis slowly became aware of her surroundings, raising her head from her forearms to lean it back against the rough wood of the sheep barn. She’d outdone herself this time, making up for yesterday’s peaceful slumber. The sun hadn’t even breathed a hint of gray into the sky outside and would
n’t for another couple of hours. She sniffled and wiped her face with the hem of her sweater. Taking a bracing breath, she stretched out her legs and sat listening to the gentle shuffle of half-awake sheep. Did sheep dream? She had a faint recollection of a science fiction book titled something about electric sheep. Following the tendril of thought, she tried to pry out more information to no avail. Listless, she brought her palms up to rub her eyes, smearing away the last of the tears.

  What am I going to do? This last nightmare had been the mother of of them all, as vivid as those she’d experienced that first year. She had almost believed it was real when Gwen had awakened her. It was lucky she hadn’t had a weapon to hand, or Gwen might be sporting a serious injury right now. Shame coursed through her. She brought her feet up and propped her elbows onto her knees, holding her head in her hands. Panicked from the nightmare, angry that Gwen wouldn’t let things lie, she’d said some mean things. She consoled herself with Gwen’s apparent history. She doesn’t want me. She wants power. Loomis couldn’t fault Gwen, not after what Gwen had told her about Beau. Gwen had revealed a horrible time in her life, and Loomis had offered little to no support, too busy wallowing in her own pain.

  But she didn’t want help, did she? Loomis frowned. The memory was hazy with violent recollections and tumultuous emotions, making it difficult to focus. Yes, she remembered coming out of her fugue only to have Gwen shut her down. “I ain’t looking for pity. I’m telling you so you understand.” Understand what? That being brutally raped and beaten, losing a child to the injuries was just as bad as what Loomis had been through, that hundreds of girls have already been through? That was a given. Loomis had latched onto her pregnancy with rabid vehemence, using it to soothe her horror. The baby was innocent of any wrongdoing, and she had the opportunity to raise a child she otherwise would never have. Megan had been a godsend and a blessing. Loomis would have died without her. She couldn’t imagine a world where she’d lost Megan and didn’t want to.