What's Done in Darkness

by Laura McHugh

  “Do you and Eli ever hang out? I’ve barely seen him since I got back. Haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

  He looked down at his coffee cup. “Nah. Haven’t seen much of him since you left, really. Think it made him uncomfortable, being here without you. He might’ve caught on that I had a bit of a crush.”

  “On Eli?”

  “That bother you?”

  “No, I just…I kissed you that time. When we were watching Little House.”

  He laughed. “I remember.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You could have told me.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” he said. “You know what it’s like around here. This isn’t the kind of place where you want to stand out.”

  “There’s life outside Wisteria. You don’t have to stick around here.”

  “Not forever, maybe,” he said. “But till my grandparents are gone. I wouldn’t trust Ronnie to look after them, or the farm.”

  “Ronnie’s still here?”

  “Oh, yeah. I thought we’d be rid of him for a while when he stole a car, but he claimed it was all a misunderstanding—everything’s a misunderstanding with him. Spent less than a year locked up and came out saved. Found Jesus at the Clayton County Jail.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Pastor Blackburn visits the inmates as part of his ministry. Ronnie latched on to that, cleaned himself up, took some computer classes, got a shortened sentence. Blackburn gave him a job when he got out and everything. Not sure I buy the act, but we’ll see how long he can keep it up.”

  “When did he get out?”

  “Seven, eight months ago.”

  “Is he staying here?”

  “Nah, Grampa didn’t want him in the house. Got him set up in a trailer on Blackburn’s land.”

  Tom laced his fingers together the way I used to do for Sylvie when she was little. Here’s the church, here’s the steeple, open the doors and see all the people.

  “You know,” he said, “I always felt like things turned sour after he showed up here. But I think I liked it better when he wasn’t pretending to be something he’s not. You knew what to expect. Now I’ve got no idea what he’s up to.” He sipped his coffee, spooned in more sugar from the flowered sugar bowl at the center of the table.

  “What kind of work does Ronnie do for the Blackburns?”

  “Website stuff, mostly, but he helps out at the kennels. They sell hunting dogs now.” He peeked under the table at the sleeping dog. “That’s where I got Ralph. He’s no good at hunting, but that’s all right. Keeps me company.”

  “Will you be at the wedding?”

  “Nah.” He smiled wryly. “Be kind of awkward going alone. But if you need a break from your family, come on over and see me. We could resurrect Secret Thursday. Watch some Little House on TV. Hell, I’d even let you kiss me for old times’ sake.”

  We laughed like we had as kids, when we would do stupid things for fun, back before Ronnie showed up. I had felt at home in this kitchen with Tom. We’d been there for each other when each of us had been in desperate need of a friend. We’d talked about the future, how different it would be, though things hadn’t turned out quite like we’d expected. Both of us were still on the outside of the lives we wanted to live, holding back in our own ways, for our own reasons. He was stuck here, partly out of obligation, maybe partly because he was scared to leave.

  “This house was a refuge to me,” I said. “And my house is always open to you. I mean it.” I got up to hug him, squeezing tight. “If you ever get out of Wisteria,” I said, “you come see me.”

  * * *

  —

  On the way home from Tom’s, I walked up the road until I got cell service and called Farrow. This time, he picked up immediately.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I heard him exhale.

  “Good,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Possible leads.” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of my mouth, like I was playing at being a detective, which I guess I was. “Ronnie Darling. Our neighbor’s cousin. He lived with them for a while, back when I was working at their house. Apparently he spent some time in jail after I left and got out less than a year before Abby disappeared.”

  “Got it. I’ll check it out. Anything else?”

  “Maybe. The boys from town we talked about. One of them…Everett Linley. He got into some trouble at college and moved back home. I don’t know what he did, or how useful that is, but I figured you might want to look into it.”

  “No, that’s great. I really appreciate it. I’ll start digging. You never know.” He sounded tired. Exhausted.

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. You feel safe there? Things all right with your family?”

  “Yeah. It’s good.”

  “Glad to hear that,” he said.

  “Any news on Destiny?”

  “They’re sifting through hours of footage from hunting cameras in the surrounding areas. Nothing but deer and possums so far. I’ll let you know if anything changes. In the meantime, keep in touch. I’ll take any leads you’ve got.”

  “Wait—did you get my message from last night? About the girl from Wisteria?”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks for that. I did a quick search and didn’t come up with anything on Eva Winters. Literally nothing. But that’s not unheard-of. Some of these more isolated families do their best to stay off the grid—unregistered home births, never enrolled in school, no vaccinations, no driver’s license. Makes them hard to track. I’ll have to do a deeper dive. How much longer will you be down there?”

  “Few more days. Wedding’s Sunday afternoon. I’ll leave that night.”

  “I guess I might be joining you.”

  “Joining me?” I had a fleeting vision of Farrow escorting me to the wedding, meeting my parents, posing as my boyfriend, everything going horribly awry, like a scene from a romantic comedy.

  “If any of these leads show promise, I might have to head down there myself. I’ll let you know.”

  * * *

  —

  When I got back to the house, I found Sylvie in our bedroom, all the clothes from my bag spread out across her bed. I’d packed the three most modest dresses I owned—frumpy hand-me-downs from my time at the women’s shelter—in an effort to appease my family. “What are you doing, Syl?”

  She smiled sweetly. “I’m unpacking for you! You can’t live out of a bag. I was worried your things’d get wrinkled. Which of these dresses were you planning to wear to the wedding?”

  “The nice one.” I pointed to the dress with the longest skirt, a loose flowered maxi that I’d never worn.

  Sylvie twisted up her mouth. “I bet it looks so pretty on you,” she said. “But it’s rather…bright. Would you consider something closer to my colors, since you’re my maid of honor now?” She clasped her hands together. “Minnie already volunteered to make you one like hers.”

  “That sounds like too much trouble. The wedding’s in four days.”

  “She already has the pattern and the fabric. Please, sis. I’d feel rude saying no.”

  “Uh…if it really means that much to you, I guess.”

  “Thank you, Sarabeth!” she squealed. “We should head over there now, so she can measure you and get started. Mama already said it was okay for me to ride with you.”

  In the car, Sylvie asked me to put on the gospel station, but I couldn’t find it, so I turned the radio off. She navigated, cheerily narrating the scenery along the way. This is the bridge that got swept away in the spring flood. That’s what’s left of the Hannemeyers’ place that burned down. There’s a tree growing inside the old stone silo! See the leaves poking out the top?

  I didn’t care what I wore to the wedding. I’d only
agreed to the new dress to make Sylvie happy. I hadn’t been thinking about what it would entail, the time I’d have to spend with Minnie Blackburn. The farther we got from home, the deeper we drove into the hills, the more I wanted to turn around.

  CHAPTER 20

  SARABETH, THEN

  AGE 17

  In my dream, a door opened, and I woke with a start, gasping, still in the dark. Someone was in the room with me, a presence looming in the small space. My heart seized up and then began to beat with such force that my entire body seemed to move with it, rocking forward and back. There was rustling as things were set down on the floor, and then the bag was untied and removed from my head. The blindfold remained in place.

  Something was pressed to my open mouth and I jerked away, liquid spilling over my lips and down my chest. My tongue darted to taste it and I was given another drink, the water fresh and cold. A chunk of bread followed, and another, alternating with sips of water, and it occurred to me that if he planned to kill me right away, he wouldn’t bother to feed me. It was a small comfort, because I knew nothing good would happen to me in this room, but it allowed me to shove the fear aside enough to think. He hadn’t killed me, and he hadn’t let me see his face or hear his voice. He didn’t want me to be able to identify him, which wouldn’t be a concern if I never made it out alive. That left the possibility, however small, that he might let me go.

  There was a scraping sound, something dragging across the floor, and then I felt my skirt being pulled up. I yelped as hands touched my waist, one on either side, and began to remove my underwear. I heard myself whimpering. Strong arms lifted me up and shoved something beneath me, some sort of bowl or bucket, and I understood. I cried, not wanting to relieve myself in front of him, not wanting to know what would happen next.

  As soon as I was done, he moved the bucket, put the bag back over my head, and left. The door closed softly, and my sobs filled the room, echoing around me. He had not returned my underwear. I thought of Tom’s father in the baler. I had wondered if he’d prayed to survive or die quickly. If he had prayed to survive in those first moments, he’d changed his mind later, once he realized what he was in for. It wasn’t the baler that had killed him.

  I didn’t lack hope. Aside from the discomfort of being restrained, he hadn’t gone out of his way to hurt me, and I told myself he might not want to. I moved my legs, trying to feel around for the bucket, but it was gone. Not that I could have used it as a weapon anyhow. There wasn’t much I could do to fight back as long as I was tethered to a wall. I’d have to think of another way out.

  CHAPTER 21

  SARAH, NOW

  The Blackburns’ driveway looked like any of the dozen other dirt roads we’d passed, all of them disappearing into the woods, but a few miles after the trees closed in behind us, we faced an iron gate with an intercom. Sylvie had me press the call button and moments later the gate beeped and slid open.

  It was another mile or two before we reached the Blackburns’ compound in a broad clearing surrounded by towering pines. The road forked in two with a house on either side. To the right, a small white clapboard that must have been a hundred years old, and to the left, a newer two-story red cedar cabin with a pair of rocking chairs on the porch. Several other buildings were scattered around the clearing: a machine shed with a bright red International Harvester tractor parked outside, a large barn with a gambrel roof, a garage, a rustic outhouse that appeared to be for decorative purposes only. A garden bright with pumpkins and gourds basked in the sun between the houses. On the far side of the clearing, the two roads continued into the woods in different directions.

  Sylvie waved me to the left. “Leave your phone in the car, if you don’t mind,” she said. “She doesn’t like them.”

  Minnie leaned over the cabin’s porch railing and waved as we parked and got out. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said. “I’m fixing a little lunch.”

  “Lucky us!” Sylvie said. Her enthusiasm was so over the top it sounded fake. Either she was kissing up to her soon-to-be mother-in-law, or she was a huge fan of Minnie Blackburn.

  “It’s so lovely to have you here, Sarabeth,” Minnie said, ushering us into the cool, dim entryway and down the hall to a spacious kitchen. Everything was made of cedar—walls, floors, cabinets, countertops, a harvest table large enough to seat a dozen people. The window over the sink looked out to the woods and a gushing creek, probably the same one Sylvie could see from her and Noah’s cabin.

  “Thank you for offering to help out,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s my absolute pleasure. I love to sew.” She smoothed her skirt, subtly drawing attention to the perfect pleats and even stitching. “The fabric Sylvie chose is beautiful. Pale blue—Noah’s favorite color.”

  Sylvie beamed. “Can we help you with lunch? What needs doing?”

  Minnie had plates laid out on the counter, thick slices of bread on each. “Well, let’s see, I have ham for sandwiches, and pimento spread, but we could use a fresh jar of pickles if you don’t mind running down to the root cellar.”

  “Of course,” Sylvie said. “Anything else?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a jar of peaches for dessert if you two fancy it.”

  “Be right back,” Sylvie said.

  I started to follow her out of the kitchen, but Minnie stopped me.

  “Stay and visit,” she said. “Your sister can manage on her own.” Minnie stepped closer and placed her hand on my shoulder, and I resisted the urge to pull away. “I know you probably still think of her as the girl she was when you left. I can see it in the way you look at her. But she’s a capable young woman now.”

  “I guess she is.” Minnie’s hand dropped away, though I could still feel where it had been.

  “Your mother has raised her well. She’ll make a fine wife, and a wonderful mother, too. You should see her with the babies at the church nursery. And she’s the only one besides me who can quiet my little Rachel when she’s crying.”

  “You…have a baby?” Minnie’s entire existence, to my recollection, had centered on the womb—the gift of fertility, the recurrent miscarriages, her steadfast determination to trust in God’s punishing, unrevealed plan.

  “Yes.” Her large cowlike eyes glistened. “Did Sylvie not tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. She must’ve thought I already knew.”

  “It’s a miracle of faith,” she said. She wrapped her arms around her middle and dropped her voice to a whisper. “And I probably shouldn’t say…it’s early yet…but I think we might have another on the way, praise the Lord.”

  “Wow. Congratulations.” It was hard to picture Minnie with a baby. I’d always thought of her as old, though she couldn’t be much over forty. She had warned us in youth group not to wait too long to have children, that the older we grew, the less fertile we’d be. She’d had Noah when she was seventeen.

  “Thank you.” Minnie pulled a carving knife out of a drawer and began to saw away at a glazed ham, thick pink slices falling away from the blade. “Sylvie’ll be with me when the new baby’s born,” she said. “So she can help, get some firsthand experience. She wants to train as a midwife. Of course, she’s eager to have a little one of her own. She’s been praying.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard.”

  Sylvie returned with a jar in each hand and I watched her arrange pickles on a plate, spoon peaches into dainty dessert bowls. I felt like I should be helping, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Minnie said grace, and while we ate, she and Sylvie chatted about the food for the wedding reception. I nodded and smiled when necessary. After we had finished and cleaned up the dishes, Minnie checked the clock.

  “Sylvie, would you mind to wake Rachel from her nap and feed her while I get Sarabeth’s measurements?”

  “I’d be happy to,” she said. She opened the freezer and took out a bag of frozen milk, like she’d done
it plenty of times before.

  “Let’s go to my sewing room,” Minnie said, leading me into the back hallway and down to the lower level. We passed a sliding glass door, and I spied a concrete hump in the backyard, the top of the root cellar sticking up out of the ground, steps descending into the earth.

  There were no windows in the sewing room, but the fluorescent light overhead was painfully bright. “Here we go,” she said, grabbing her measuring tape. “Hold your arms out to your sides.” She reached around me to stretch the tape across my back, pulling it together over my chest, between my breasts. It felt uncomfortably intimate, and I focused on holding still, wanting to get it over with. She moved the tape to my armpit, running her fingers over my ribs, down to my waist, her hair brushing against my face.

  “You know,” she said, squatting to measure from my waist to the floor, “my miracle was a long time coming. I had all but given up hope that I would ever have another child. I prayed and prayed, but it wasn’t until I truly submitted myself to God’s will that things changed. I realized He had a different plan for me—one I never could have imagined. My failure to bear children didn’t mean I was useless. There was so much I could do to help others through my faith.” She got to her feet, reaching for my arm to steady herself. “There’s hope for everyone, a purpose for everyone. Even those who’ve lost their way.”

  I didn’t want to listen to one of Minnie Blackburn’s sermons. I eased backward, trying to put space between us, and felt the wall behind me. The urge to escape was sudden and fierce. I needed to get out of her sewing room, her basement, her house. I took a breath, reminded myself that I wasn’t trapped, that I could simply leave. “I’d better get going,” I said, my voice artificially cheery.

  Minnie led me back upstairs, where Sylvie sat in the kitchen feeding Rachel. Minnie gently lifted the baby from Sylvie’s arms. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she said to me. “I’ll need you here in the evening to do your fitting.”