Bone River (36 page)

“No, it’s Junius.” I scrambled from the bed, grabbing for my clothes, which were strewn throughout the room. No time to wash or to compose myself. No time for anything.

Daniel said, “Leonie—”

I turned to him as I clutched my dress to my naked breasts, glaring, panicked. “Get dressed, damn you, or he’ll know.”

He crooked his elbow beneath his head. “Isn’t that what we want?”

“No.” I shook my head, dropping the clothes I held, pulling my chemise over my head. I could not control my panic or my
dread. “Not now. Not yet. I need to...Please, Daniel. Please...I can’t...”

“Can’t do what?” His voice was cold; his eyes had gone stony.

My dress next. My fingers shook as I tried to do the buttons up the flannel lining of the bodice. “We need to talk about this—”

“We certainly do.”

“—But not now. I thought we had more time, but...please. For now, please just get dressed.”

He hesitated; I thought he would argue and my panic increased. I glanced toward the window. I saw the gliding shadow of the canoe coming ashore, someone—Lord Tom—jumping out, splashing into ankle-deep water.

“Daniel, please. Please just hurry. They’re coming ashore now.”

He pushed back the blankets. Naked, he came to me. He pushed aside my shaking hands and did up the buttons of the inner lining, so calmly, so easily, and then the buttons of the outer bodice. I thought he would kiss me, and I pulled away a little desperately, batting at his hands, reaching for my stockings, putting them on.

“He’ll know anyway,” he said.

“Not if we don’t tell him,” I said, tying my garters.

“Leonie, he has to know.”

I stopped and gave him a pleading glance. “We’ll discuss this later. We’ll decide what to do later. But for now please just...don’t say anything. Please, Daniel. Please.”

“You aren’t staying with him.”

“For God’s sake, get dressed.”

He let out his breath and reached for his long underwear, and I was so relieved I felt tears start. I blinked them away, forcing myself to think, to be calm, to act as I always did—what was it I always did? How did I act when Junius came home from a long trip? Would I have missed him? I tried to remember other times, other greetings, and could not. I could not remember how I’d
been, or what was the last thing he’d said to me, or how I should greet him now, and for a moment I was paralyzed by indecision and uncertainty. I could only sit there watching Daniel—my stepson, I thought suddenly, with a sense of unreality, something I’d forgotten—as he put on trousers, and I felt as if I sat there in a dream, sleeping again, when I had been so very awake...

Daniel glanced over his shoulder, to the window, as he pulled on his shirt. “He’s coming across the yard.”

I rose. I could not feel my own skin. Daniel glanced at me. Softly he said, “There’s no need to panic, Lea. I’ll do as you want. I’ll do whatever you say. For now.”

His voice broke through the dream. I nodded. I went to the door and out, down the stairs, hearing him behind me, following me as he buttoned his shirt. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped me. “Your hair,” he whispered, and I put my hand to it and realized it was down. I turned to him in shock, paralyzed again, and he said, “I’ll get your pins,” and raced upstairs again, and it seemed forever before he was back, holding a handful of them, giving me one at a time as I scrambled to gather my hair—how odd it felt, to have it up again after weeks, to feel the air on my bare neck, the heaviness of the chignon at the back of my head, but it was also what restored me. I suddenly felt myself again, the Leonie Junius would know, the one who had him as a husband and liked it. And yet...how strange. I was not this woman any longer, and I felt an imposter.

Daniel whispered, “You’ve disappeared.”

Again I felt tears. I wiped them away viciously, hurrying to the door, shoving my feet into my boots, and then I was outside, racing down the porch steps, because I remembered how I’d always greeted him, and this run across the yard was it, the way he dropped the bag he held and opened his arms, catching me, holding me tight—the smell of the sea and smoke and unwashed skin. He held me away long enough to kiss me hard, and then he was smiling and his eyes were glowing and I felt how much he loved me in a deep, deep ache.

Junius released me, his eyes crinkling. “That’s the kind of greeting that makes a man glad to be back,” he said—the same thing he always said. He bent to retrieve the bag he’d dropped, and I looked at Lord Tom, who was coming up beside him, and who was watching me with this careful look, and I thought, though I had no reason to,
he knows
.

It made me nervous; again I felt that edge of panic, and I told myself Lord Tom couldn’t know, that it was only guilt that made me think it. I smiled and said, a bit too brightly, “I’m glad you’re home. I’ve missed you both. How was the trip?”

“Long and arduous,” Junius said, walking again, and I fell into step beside him. “Getting that canoe on a train was a misery. It wouldn’t fit on a single car. We had to cut it in half.”

“In half?” I didn’t have to feign dismay.

Junius nodded grimly. “But it’s off now. Good riddance.” He glanced up as we approached the house. “So he’s still here?”

I followed his gaze to where Daniel stood beside the doorway in his stocking feet, his arms crossed over his chest, looking belligerent already.

I glanced away and said as casually as I could, though my heart was racing, “Yes, of course he’s here. I would have been lost without his help.”

“Is that so?” Junius went up the stairs. I held back, letting both him and Lord Tom go before me. Junius paused at the door, looking at his son, saying, “So my wife tells me you were a help.”

Daniel’s eyes flickered to me, then back to Junius. “That was your command, wasn’t it? Do as she directs—isn’t that what you said?”

“It was.” Junius reached for the doorknob. “I’m just glad you remembered.”

“I remember everything,” Daniel said, and though he was looking at Junius, I knew those words had been meant for me. I thought of how we’d been only moments before wrapped in each other’s arms, drowsy and satisfied, and to my dismay I felt the blooming heat in my cheeks.

Thankfully, both Junius and Lord Tom were ahead of me, and I didn’t think either of them noticed. But Daniel did. Junius opened the door and stepped inside, and Lord Tom followed, and as I went to follow, Daniel grabbed my hand, pressing it hard—only a moment, not enough for anyone to see—before he let me go again. I didn’t look at him; I could not.

I felt him come in behind me, closing the door. Junius bent to take off his boots, and then he stopped short, saying, “What the hell?”

Lord Tom froze, muttering something beneath his breath, backing away so hard he ran into me. He looked horrified.

Junius said, “What’s
that
doing in here?”

It was a moment before I realized—the trunk in the middle of the floor, its lid open, the mummy inside.

I hurried over to it, closing the lid, trying not to feel the way it closed her in darkness. “The river was flooding,” I said quickly. “It got to the barn. We had to move her—” I motioned for Daniel, who stepped over obediently. “We’ll put her on the porch,
tot.
Don’t worry.” I glanced at Daniel.

Daniel lifted one side of the trunk while I lifted the other.

Junius said, “The river’s not high now. Put it back in the barn.”

I felt a moment of horror as strong as that evidenced on Lord Tom’s face. “We’ll put her on the porch for now,” I said firmly. “You just got back. The barn can wait for later.”

Daniel and I took the trunk outside. He pushed aside the old chair, kicked a few pails to roll between the railing slats and fall to the ground below, and then we set her carefully against the wall. I glanced at the roof overhang above. “Do you think she’ll be safe here?”

“As safe as anywhere.” He straightened; his gaze made me feel naked and vulnerable. In a low voice, he said, “Christ, this is untenable already.”

I shook my head at him. “Not now.”

He looked as if he might protest, but then he nodded, and together we went back inside. Lord Tom was staring at me, again I felt uncomfortable in it, and I said, “I’m sorry,
tot
. I...I wasn’t sure when to expect you.”

“The tides were with us,” Junius said. “So we took the Unity stage across the beach. Borrowed Wilson’s canoe in Oysterville. It all probably saved us a day. Maybe even two. Which was good, given how wretched it was getting down there.”

“We thought of you,” I said. “Didn’t we, Daniel?”

“Wondered if maybe you’d drowned,” he said, sitting on the settee hard, every movement clipped and angry.

“Well, that would have satisfied you, no doubt,” Junius said wryly, going to the stove. “But you didn’t get your way this time, though it seemed like you might once or twice. No coffee?”

“Oh, I...I was so busy I forgot,” I said.

“You forgot coffee?” Junius gave me a puzzled smile. “What had you so busy you did that?”

There was no insinuation in his words; of course not. Still I had to look away, avoiding Lord Tom’s eyes too, scrabbling for the best excuse, settling on, “The springhouse flooded. We spent nearly the whole day cleaning it out. Well, Daniel did most of it.”

“I see.” Junius reached for grinder, opened the drawer, and scooped out coffee into the pot. “The schooner come?”

“We sold about four hundred bushels.” I told him.

“Good. And I think Baird will pay well for that canoe, too. It’s a good specimen, even cut in half. I told him it was for war parties and slave raids. He’ll like that.”

“Bibi said it was for whaling,” I said.

“He won’t know that.” Junius put water in the pot and set it on the stove to boil.

“You’ll make Baird think the Shoalwater are warriors.”

“What of it, Lea, if he pays more because of the story?” Junius ran a weary hand through his hair. “Even Lord Tom doesn’t care if I lie about it a little.”

Lord Tom said wryly, “You white people respect war.”

“You see? Better than saying the truth, which is that they dig clams and drink whiskey.” Junius laughed lightly. “We’ve made his tribe noble. With any luck we can rehabilitate them into a proud, resilient people—though actually, I think the savage barbarian story is what draws crowds, don’t you think, boy?”

“How would I know?” Daniel asked.

“Because you work for a newspaper, perhaps?” Junius needled. “I’d think you would have an idea of how best to get the attention of your reader. Which reminds me; finished the story on the mummy yet? When are you planning to move on?”

“
Junius
,” I said, and Junius laughed again, but it was thin.

“Just joking with you, boy. No harm done.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, patting his leg for me to come sit on his lap. He had made such a gesture a hundred times before, and I felt a little sting of resentment and wondered that I hadn’t noticed how like calling a dog it was. But neither had I ever ignored it, so I went to him now, seating myself, trying not to stiffen as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, breathing deeply of me.

He pulled away, frowning. “You smell different.”

“The springhouse, no doubt.”

“Maybe.” His frown deepened. He glanced down, then reached for my arm. “You’re still wearing this?”

The bracelet. I snatched my arm away. “What’s the harm in it?”

“It looks ready to fall off.”

I glanced down at it. It was true. Over the last few weeks the twine had begun to fray and unravel. Some of the charms looked held on by the merest thread, ready to snap or drop. I’d grown attached to the thing, to the way Daniel touched and tangled it, his fascination, and now I felt a little panic at its decay—which was odd, wasn’t it, because now I remembered what its purpose had been. To protect me from Daniel. It was such an obvious
contradiction that I was confused and disoriented suddenly,
I brought him for you
and
you will regret it now he is here
rubbing uncomfortably against each other in my head.

Daniel was off the settee, now settling himself against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s been through a great deal,” he said. “I’d say it’s a miracle it stayed on at all.”

I sent him a warning glance, which he ignored.

Junius frowned more deeply. “What are you talking about, boy?”

“Lea nearly drowned while you were gone. Taking your oysters in. The storm hit when we were coming back from Bruceport. She slipped and fell off the boat. She won’t tell you that. She thinks it nothing. But she didn’t see how close it was, neither the drowning nor the cold.”

Junius looked at me. “Is that true?”

I made a face. “Yes, it’s true, but it turned out all right, as you can see. I’m here. Daniel kept his wits about him and pulled me in.”

My husband glanced thoughtfully at me, and then turned to Daniel. “I suppose I have something to thank you for then, don’t I? For saving my wife’s life.”

Daniel shook the thanks away, a negligent flick of his hand. “We shouldn’t have been out there at all. She shouldn’t have been. The oysters would have waited until you came back. They would have waited for the next schooner.”

“I didn’t mind going,” I said quickly. “I never mind it. There was no way of knowing—”

“How many usually take the oysters in?” Daniel asked, ignoring that. “Three? He had to know how difficult it would be for just the two of us to do so—and one with little experience and none for sailing.”

“What are you accusing me of, boy?” Junius asked. His hand tightened on my waist.

“He’s not accusing you of anything.” I glared at Daniel, pleading with him. “Are you?”

Daniel’s mouth tightened. He glared back at me, and I thought he would say something more; I braced for it. But he only shook his head. “No.”

Junius was still tense, but his fingers eased. “I didn’t think so.”

I pulled away from my husband, rising from his lap, forcing cheerfulness. “Well, I suppose I should start supper. The two of you must be starving.”

I felt Junius watch me as I went—I was too sensitive, too guilty; I had the notion that my guilt showed in my every movement. I went to the stairs, meaning to go into the storage room for something—just a chance to disappear for a few moments, to compose myself—and there was Daniel, leaning against the wall, blocking access. He backed away, almost too quickly, and clumsily I went past him, up the stairs, stumbling when I reached the top and saw his bedroom door open and where we’d been only minutes before, what we’d been doing, rushed into my head. I went quietly to the door and closed it before I went into the storage room, and then I stood there, staring at strings of onions and dried salmon hanging from the rafters, barrels of flour and cornmeal, brined pork and salmon, a keg of salt, a covered basket of dried berries, and a wrapped cone of sugar. This room was mine alone, the only place in the house where everything put into it had been of my doing, and I stood there in the dimness lit by a slanted window and closed my eyes, breathing deep the scents of onion and salmon and dust, the fullness of my own intentions and deliberations, the future I’d put into this room.