Orphan Maker

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  Gwen just wanted to know what had happened. Loomis couldn’t fault her for natural curiosity, but the more Gwen harped on knowing the specifics, the worse Loomis suffered. Gwen was like a recalcitrant bulldog gnawing on a new boot and unwilling to let it go. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. What the hell was she supposed to do? Smack Gwen on the nose with a newspaper? It’d be a good bet the newspaper would be shredded in a matter of seconds if she tried. She snorted in reluctant humor.

  Had Gwen put up this much fuss with Weasel? She’d left him quick enough when they got to Lindsay Crossing. Had she ever become so involved in his life that he had wanted to pull his hair out? Would he tell her if she asked? Loomis doubted she’d ever have a sit-down talk with Weasel. The boy was seriously jealous of Gwen’s choice to leave him. Did he love her? Loomis grunted, taking a deep breath. The more important question was whether or not Gwen Grant loved him. Up until Festival, Loomis hadn’t even known they’d been together, so she doubted it. Why can’t she just let it go?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Breakfast was a dour affair. The younger children were quiet and uncertain, perceptibly watching their elders for signals. Rick and Heather remained subdued in stark contrast to Cara’s and Terry’s unconcealed glowers. Kevin and Lucky sat at the end of the table near Tommy Boy and Emerita, following Rick’s lead. Tommy Boy’s natural scowl had returned full force, and he stared back at Cara and Terry, matching them glare for glare. Loomis had earlier come to grab a piece of toast, immediately disappearing back outside, leaving Gwen no opportunity to make amends. Their argument had divided the homestead down the middle. She had to make things right soon before it all blew up in front of her.

  Rick was the first to stand, taking his plate to the kitchen. When he returned, he said, “Tommy, let’s head out to the barn and give Loomis a hand.”

  Tommy Boy debated with himself, glancing at Gwen for some indication of what to do. She nodded to him. “Farm work is an all-day thing, dawg. We have to take care of the critters, then work in the garden.” She picked up her plate, the others following her lead. “Lots of chores to keep you busy.” She led the way to the kitchen, and then outdoors, ignoring Cara’s narrowed gaze. Let the bitch stew. It was none of her damned business anyway.

  Out in the sheep barn, Loomis was noticeably absent though the sheep had been corralled for milking. Frowning, Gwen helped Rick set up the milking platforms as Kevin and Terry went out among the flock to sort them. Tommy Boy seemed affronted as Rick explained the purpose of herding the ewe into the milker. Even with the worry and tension hanging over her head, Gwen was hard-pressed not to laugh at her friend’s disgust. She’d been there herself two weeks ago.

  Terry stuck his head inside the barn. “Twinkles and Hazard are missing.”

  Concern washed over Gwen. “Do you think they had their lambs?”

  “Might be where Loomis is.”

  Rick headed out to the pasture beyond the barn, his companions following him. Kevin and Terry broke into a trot, breaking away to the left while the others spread out as they walked. From a cursory scan of the field there was nothing to see, but this pasture wasn’t a level stretch of land. Dips and swells gave the sheep natural nooks in which to hide themselves. Rick reached down to poke at a nearly barren patch of ground. “We’ll have to move them to the next pasture soon. This one’s about ate up.”

  Gwen looked at the patchwork fencing in a new light. She’d wondered why this huge tract of grassland had been divided. “You do that often?”

  “Two or three times a year. We rotate through as we go, till up the ground after they’ve left. When we can find clover or grass seed, we throw it down just to keep it in growth. Sometimes we grow barley. Between the pasture and the chicken coop, we always have rich soil to use in the garden.” He pointed ahead. “I think Hazard was hanging around this area a while, probably scoping out a birthing place.”

  “How long you been doing this, dawg?” Tommy Boy asked.

  Rick grinned. “All my life. Our parents fancied themselves survivalists and homesteaders. They did a lot of research before they bought this land. Built it up…well, with my aunt and uncle’s help.” He set out in the direction he’d pointed toward. “They chose Icelandic sheep because they’re the best, all around. Natural twinners, mild-mannered, decent wool and a primary meat breed. Come September, we’ll have you and your family around for a lamb feast. Nothing better.” He smacked his lips.

  Up until recently, Gwen couldn’t imagine eating meat other than rats and possum caught in the city. After a recent diet that included ham, rabbit and chicken, she considered the flock in a new light. “You kill the lambs? Why not the adults?”

  “We do, some of them. The girls give us milk and the boys do the mating, though. Don’t want to deplete our stock.” Rick looked at Tommy Boy. “If you think you’re interested, we’ll slaughter fewer lambs this season. Give you a starter flock if you’d like.”

  Consternation crossed Tommy Boy’s face at the thought. Before he could respond, Kevin shouted, waving at them. Terry’s blond head was barely visible in the nubby grass. Loomis sat beside Terry in a small fold of pasture. For a wonder, the kid was smiling, as was his cousin. Gwen felt her lips quirk in sympathetic response as she crested the tiny mound. Hazard bleated placidly as a newborn lamb punched at her teat with lively energy. Terry held a second lamb in his lap, stroking its fur, and Kevin dropped to the ground beside him to pet it.

  Gwen sank down beside Loomis, watching the lamb struggle out of Terry’s lap to join its sibling. “Natural twinners, huh?”

  “Yep.” Loomis glanced at her companion briefly, a haunted flicker in her dark eyes. “I bet Twinkles is somewhere nearby with another pair all her own.”

  Tentatively, Gwen reached out to touch one of the newborns, pleased at the soft pelt beneath her fingers.

  “Should see a half dozen more birthing over the next couple of weeks.” Rick stood with his hands on his hips. “Terry, why don’t you and Kevin see if you can find Twinkles. Let’s make sure she’s okay before we head back to the chores.”

  Terry nodded and jumped to his feet. “Come on, Kev.”

  Gwen used her hand to shade her eyes against the early morning sunlight cresting the mountains. “What happens now?”

  “We leave them here. She’ll come in when she’s ready.” Loomis patted Hazard. “I want to get the lambs tagged before the end of the day.”

  “Tag ’em?” Tommy Boy scowled. “Paint?”

  Gwen snickered. Tagging in the city meant something completely different here. In the city, gangs spray-painted their signs on buildings to indicate territory. “Kind of. We notch the ears to let everyone know who they belong to. Like branding in the old western movies.”

  Tommy Boy’s scowl became fierce. “You got a problem with thieves here?” He looked around the pasture as if expecting to see sheep rustlers come climbing out of the woods.

  “No.” Rick shook his head. “It’s something we did before Orphan Maker, just automatic these days.”

  “Besides, sometimes we lend out our rams. There’s one other Icelandic herd in the valley.” Loomis stood, dusting off the seat of her pants. “Makes it easier to identify when we pick them up again. Our sign is a single notch in the left ear. The other herd is two notches in the right.” She bent to rub one of the lambs on the head. “Best to get it done first thing so it doesn’t pain them later.” Another shout indicated that the boys had found Twinkles.

  “Tommy? Let’s head back to the barn, get the snips and salve.” Rick and Tommy Boy walked back across the pasture.

  Loomis and Gwen looked at each other. Gwen held up her hand, a silent request for assistance in getting to her feet. Loomis took a moment to consider before resignation curled her lip. She helped Gwen to her feet, but Gwen didn’t release her.

  “I’m sorry, Marissa.” Frozen, Loomis stared into Gwen’s eyes. But she’s not running. “I care about you. You’re my friend.” The moment stretched on. “Even i
f you throw me out, that won’t change, okay?”

  Loomis blinked. “Okay.”

  Gwen nodded slowly. “Thanks.” She didn’t clarify whether she was expressing gratitude for their words or the assistance rendered. She smiled, gently reaching up to cup Loomis’s cheek. “I can wait as long as it takes.” Her smile widened as those cinnamon-hazel eyes dilated, and she released Loomis and walked away. It wasn’t the greatest of apologies, but it would do for now.

  ***

  “Hold up.”

  Hoe in hand, Gwen turned. Heather lumbered toward her, one hand on her growing belly. A stray thought crossed Gwen’s mind. I can probably get away before she catches me. Her gaze darted across the rest of the household as they all prepared to work in the garden, and she dismissed the idea. Things were barely civil between her and Cara; no need to rile the woman up any more than necessary by insulting her cousin-in-law.

  Heather smiled, gesturing to a distant row of vegetables. “Let’s start over there.”

  Gwen debated another moment, noting that she was being steered as far away from the others as possible. She allowed herself to be led away. Cara gave her the stink eye, but didn’t make an effort to corral her. Soon she was hoeing weeds out of the cucumber patch, Heather occupying the next row over. They worked in silence for ten or fifteen minutes before Gwen finally spoke. “So, what’s this about?”

  Pink tinged Heather’s complexion, but she didn’t try to avoid the truth. “Thought you might like a friend, someone who’s not going to ream you for asking questions.”

  Gwen blinked, pausing a second. “Does that mean you’re offering answers?”

  “If I can.”

  A quick glance at the other end of the garden showed Cara attacking the beans with single-minded intensity. “Won’t you get into trouble with Queen Bi—Cara?”

  Heather chuckled at the smothered swear word. “She’s protective of Loomis, that’s all. Everyone is.”

  “You should be. Loomis is special.” Gwen felt her face heat up as Heather gave her a knowing smirk. Deciding to take the plunge, Gwen continued. “But you guys are hurting her more than protecting her.”

  “I think so, too.”

  Gwen stopped her work to stare at this unlikely ally. “What about Rick? He’s as bad as Cara is.”

  Heather gave a one-shoulder shrug. “He can be, yeah. But we’ve been talking. You may be right.”

  “About what?”

  “That Loomis needs someone to talk to. It’s eating her up inside.” Heather shifted her stance to reach a stubborn patch of new weed growth. “She’s not eating right, not getting enough sleep. Leaving her alone hasn’t worked, so maybe your idea is a better one.”

  Gwen frowned, returning to work before Cara decided to come over to see why she wasn’t. “I know some of it. Riddick’s crew attacked and raped her. Megan’s the result, and Rick killed her father.”

  “Then you know almost as much as I do.”

  Again Gwen stopped, this time to stare in disbelief. “You’re kidding.” She gestured at Heather’s swollen body. “How long have you lived here?”

  “About a year and a half.” Heather grinned. “Most of what I know is gossip from town when it happened. Cara and Rick don’t discuss it any more than Loomis does.”

  Chewing the inside of her cheek, Gwen considered this new wrinkle. Terry hadn’t even known Riddick’s name, let alone what Loomis’s nightmares were about. Still, bare information was better than none at all. “Tell me.”

  Heather nodded and spent the next ten minutes filling Gwen in on the particulars. Someone had died that night, but no one in town knew who it had been. The Faber homestead hadn’t talked any more than the Loomis one had on that matter, though they had helped clean up the mess. Heather couldn’t even substantiate the rumor that Rick had killed the intruder or chased away the others. The one time Heather had asked him, she said he had clammed up and threatened to never speak to her again. “They swore a pact of secrecy between them. I’ve talked to Annie, especially in the beginning, and she doesn’t know much beyond what I do. I don’t think anyone does.”

  “And that’s why it’s killing Loomis.” Gwen paused to wipe her forehead. The day was heating nicely, and she pulled off her dress shirt to tie the arms around her waist. “No one’s talking about it. She can’t let it go until she does.”

  “Rick and I agree.”

  Gwen snorted. “But not enough for him to tell you what really happened.”

  Heather bent and used the hem of her shirt to daub her forehead. “I told you. The three of them swore secrecy. It’s what Loomis wanted.” Her confident stance didn’t change under Gwen’s scornful stare. “Maybe at first it was because Loomis just couldn’t deal with it, but then she turned up pregnant. Would you want a child to know she was the product of rape?”

  Put in that light, Gwen mentally backpedaled from her contempt. Her gaze sought and found Megan. She and Delia played some game at the nearby picnic table. Lucky sat with them, caring for Oscar and Franklin while Emerita learned about gardening from Rick. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I doubt anyone else has.” Heather followed Gwen’s gaze. “It’s going to be rough on her when she begins hearing the gossip. It’ll happen sooner or later.”

  A twinge of anger ran through Gwen at the thought. Megan was a sweet little girl, and didn’t deserve the shit for something she had no control over. Just like her mother. “If I keep pushing, Cara’s going to have me banished.”

  “She can’t do that. Only Loomis can.” Heather gently grasped Gwen’s upper arm. “Rick thinks you two have something going on between you. Is he right?”

  A blush heated Gwen’s face. “Maybe.”

  Heather smiled. “Good. Loomis needs someone, whether she realizes it or not.”

  Gwen chuckled, remembering the morning Megan kissed her in the dragon tent. “Is that the Rick Loomis Seal of Approval?”

  “Yep.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Heather.”

  “Any time. Sisters have to stick together.”

  Sisters. Gwen looked over the homestead, searching and finding the telltale auburn hair near the tomatoes where Loomis instructed a studious Tommy Boy. Gwen’s heart fluttered in her chest, another rush of heat sweeping up her throat and into her face. Providing she could make this work, this was her family now, and would be until the day she died. Her eyes swept the garden, seeing Cara’s anger for the fear it was, noting Rick’s subtle deferment to his sister as guilt for not protecting her well enough. Something ugly had bound those three together as children; it was to be expected that they would react as children even now. Revealing the truth would allow all of them to move past this atrocity and on with their lives. Was that why Cara didn’t go with James Kipfer? She wouldn’t leave Loomis because she felt guilty too?

  Loomis looked up, her face pinched as she hesitantly met Gwen’s eyes. Gwen smiled, gave a slight wave, and returned to work. Knowing Rick and Heather backed her up strengthened her resolve. I’ll be there for you, Marissa Loomis, whether you want me to be or not.

  ***

  “This is the springhouse.” Loomis led Tommy Boy and Emerita into the small stone building. The interior chill, fed by the creek gurgling through the middle of the room, felt good on her heated skin. She inhaled deeply, drawing as much of the coolness into her lungs as possible. “I know of a couple of places we can set you up with that have running water on the premises. We’ll build a springhouse for you there. This is where we keep things cool during summer.”

  The newcomers peered at the boxes and baskets scattered around the springhouse. Emerita walked to the low stone divider, looking down at the water below. “But you have a refrigerator. I’ve seen it in that little room off the kitchen.”

  “The stillroom, yeah.” Loomis ran a hand through her hair. “Our folks put up solar panels so we could have one, but it’s small. It isn’t as much of a power hog as some of them can be. We can’t guarantee we’ll find any solar panels f
or you in Cascade when we do a run. For electricity you need the right number of panels, a block of deep cycle batteries, and an inverter. Up here in the mountains, those are scarce.” She gestured at the stored goods. “It’d be best to locate you on a homestead where we can build a springhouse. We store butter and some of our early harvest here. Pretty much anything that just needs to stay cool.”

  Emerita shivered, rubbing her upper arms. “What happens when it freezes?”

  Loomis came forward and looked down into the water. “We built this thing over the natural creek bed, did a little diverting with rocks and concrete. The water doesn’t always freeze up inside here during winter. Even when it does, though, this then becomes our freezer ’til spring.”

  “You use it all year?”

  “Yeah.” Loomis glanced at Tommy Boy who had joined them. “We have to live with the seasons to survive. Fridge by summer, freezer by winter. Anything that can’t handle being frozen can be hauled into the root cellar or stillroom in the cabin.” She watched him look around the room, cataloguing the goods. Not for the first time did she wonder if she was doing the right thing by inviting this hardened young man and his family into her household. Walker’s remarks about the deadly experience these city kids had compared to their townie counterparts were a valid concern. Gwen thought it was a safe bet. But was Gwen safe?

  “You got a lot of buildings here, dawg.” Tommy Boy scratched his abdomen. “Do we really need all that much?”

  Loomis forced her mind to the present. “We can convert a house in town if you want, but those people have skills they use to barter with.”

  Emerita cocked her head. “What kind of skills?”

  “Baking, hunting, blacksmithing, traplines, weapons.” Loomis ticked off her fingers. “We have two blacksmiths who taught themselves from what they could find in McAdam. One isn’t that skilled, but he does decent repair work. He’s been getting better, learning how to shoe horses and build iron cookware and the like. The other has figured out how to salvage car steel for knives. Got a couple of trappers who barter the meat and skins from their line. Hart runs the distillery—I think he’s planning on opening a pub so people can come drink whenever they want. Then there’s Simon Massey—he and his girl bake bread every day for anyone who wants to trade. He’ll make a cake or cupcakes if you bring sweetener and extra eggs. The old body shop has been converted to a millhouse by the Kochs. It isn’t all that big, but we don’t have a lot of grains to grind around here, mostly cornmeal.”