Touching Stars (39 page)

The fish didn’t cooperate. After a good start, my bullheads had little company. Blackjack caught several sunfish just large enough to clean, and I caught a small suckerfish. The sun was sinking toward the horizon when we packed up for home. We would have enough fish for supper, sharing some of the catch with Uncle Eb’s family, but no one would eat their fill.

I cleaned and prepared the fish by the riverside and gave what I had to Ma once we arrived. I could tell she had hoped for more, but she praised us anyway.

After I washed the smell of fish from my hands, I followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll take what you don’t want to Aunt Cora.”

“I told Eb to expect it.” She was looking out the window, where both of us could see Blackjack washing at the pump.

I didn’t like the way her gaze followed him or the slight smile on her lips. I hadn’t liked that smile before, but now, knowing what I thought I did, watching it was like cleaning a cut with vinegar. I spoke before I could stop myself.

“No matter what you’re thinking, he’s not the man Pa was. Maybe he’s younger and maybe he’s handsome. But Pa would never hide out with strangers the way Blackjack’s doing. He would take care of his own problems. He wouldn’t involve anybody else.”

She was looking at me now, her gaze strong and steady. “What are you talking about?”

“Can’t you see something’s wrong about Blackjack? He could have moved on days ago, but he wants to stay here for some reason. Maybe it’s the company, and maybe it’s not.”

“What do you mean, the company?” Her eyes were angry now, although her voice remained soft.

“I mean maybe he likes knowing you’re so happy, him being here. You smiling and laughing like a girl. You think the rest of us can’t see it?”

She didn’t move. “There are some things you can’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think. I understand more than
you
do.”

Blackjack had finished at the pump, and in a moment I heard footsteps on the side porch, then heard him wiping his boots before entering the house.

“Take half the fish to Eb,” my mother said, her voice trembling. “And stay there for supper, unless you can remember what it means to respect your elders.”

“What’ll be
left
for me to respect if I don’t come home and watch out for you?”

She slapped me then, something she had never done before. “Get out, Robby! I’m ashamed to be your mother.”

“Well, I’m ashamed to be your son!” I grabbed the plate of fish, tossing half of it on the bare table for her, whirled and left.

I took the long way to Uncle Eb’s, walking through the field beside our house, then around to their back door. Aunt Cora was at the fence post pounding a piece of salted beef when I arrived. She looked up and grinned.

“Look what Eb got today.” She held up the meat for me to see. “He traded some dried corn to Walter Henderson, and there’s enough for all of us.”

“I brought you some fish.” I held out the tin plate.

“Now look what
you
got. Who did most the work, you or that Blackjack fellow?”

I forgot to answer. I felt sick. Ma and I rarely argued. She guided with gentle words, and if she needed more, a stern look usually did the job. I felt betrayed and, worse, I felt as if soon I would be betraying her.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?”

I stepped forward and offered the plate. “Aunt Cora, where’s Uncle Eb?”

The wrinkles in her forehead deepened. As she took the plate, she peered at me through narrowed eyes. “He’s out checking to see if the north field can be plowed tomorrow.”

“I’m going to see if I can find him.”

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

I shook my head.

“Reckon I’ll know soon enough anyway,” she said.

I left the cabin and walked along the road away from the house. I hoped Uncle Eb wouldn’t start back by the river path, which was longer but prettier at this time of afternoon. I kept my eyes open, practicing how to explain my suspicions.

Once I passed the woods that separated the homestead from the field, I spied him coming toward me. He was walking slowly, hands shoved in the pockets of patched overalls. He lifted one in a wave when he saw me, but neither of us walked faster. I was afraid to tell him what I knew, and he was simply growing too old to hurry.

“You looking for me?” he asked, when I drew close enough for conversation.

Every sentence I had rehearsed went out of my head. “Uncle Eb, I think Blackjack might be the fellow who killed Abraham Lincoln.”

He cocked his head and frowned. But he didn’t tell me I was fanciful or foolish. I had known he wouldn’t, and he didn’t disappoint me.

“Let’s sit and talk about it.” He tilted his head toward a fallen tree at the edge of the woods. We sat beside each other, legs straight, heels resting on the ground. I could feel the forest darkness spreading toward us. Soon it would be evening and too late to go into town to alert anyone.

“Start at the beginning,” he said.

Uncle Eb listened as I told him everything I knew. When I finished, he just sat there for a moment. Then he gnawed at his lip.

“Tell me, if your boarder is Lincoln’s assassin, why did that man they caught in Port Royal have Booth’s diary with him?”

This had puzzled me, too. The five women’s photographs had been found inserted in Booth’s diary, which had been removed from the body of the man shot in the barn.

I told him what I had figured out. “Maybe that man was a decoy. In a war, when a general wants to sneak up on his enemy, he sends some of his men to attack from a different direction, so the enemy forgets to pay attention to what’s going on at the side or the back. Maybe the man they shot was supposed to lead them away from Booth, only they killed him before the truth could come out. Then those soldiers said it was Booth so they could get that reward money.”

He’d been working on a plug of tobacco. Now he spat into the bushes and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“There are some similarities, that’s sure as the sun come up this morning. There’s a word for that, though. Coinc’dence. Not that I’m saying that’s it, mind you. But it could be.”

“If he is Booth, and if somebody figures it out and comes looking for him, and if they find him here, or find out we took him in…”

He spat again, performing the same ritual. “I reckon we could just ask him to move on down the road.”

“And if he does, and they capture him? And he tells them where he’s been hiding out?”

This thought didn’t take Uncle Eb by surprise. I could see he’d already considered it. “True, it’s taking a chance.”

“Uncle Eb, I think we have to report this to somebody in town, maybe the army if you can get to them.” I wasn’t even sure who we should tell, only that we needed to tell somebody in authority so that no one thought we had purposely harbored a fugitive.

“And you’re willing, are you, to turn him in like that? Not knowing for sure who he is?”

Even as I’d made my case, the unknowns had swirled in my head until I was no longer sure of anything. “If he’s not John Wilkes Booth, then maybe they’ll just let him go.”

“No, he’s somebody,” Uncle Eb said. “You know it. I know it.”

“They’re letting men out of prison. They’ll be letting more out. All he’ll have to do is swear he supports the Union.”

“Unless he’s wanted for more than fighting on the losing side.”

I put my head in my hands. I felt physically ill. The fight with my mother. The knowledge that I might be condemning a man who didn’t deserve it.

The fear that we might be harboring the man whose name would go down in history as the assassin of a United States President.

“I’ll make my way over to the Hendersons’ place again,” Uncle Eb said at last.

“When?”

“Now. You tell your aunt Cora I won’t be home for supper. Walter’s got a horse he’ll let me use. I’ll ride into town tonight, and in the morning I’ll see about telling somebody what you’ve told me. I’ll stay in town and be back when I’m done.”

“Somebody?”

“Somebody in charge. I’ll find the right person.”

I listened and nodded, but inside I only felt worse.

Uncle Eb patted my shoulder. “You grew up too fast, Robby. No way to keep you young, but it’s sure not fair.”

Until then, I hadn’t known how old I could feel.

I stayed there a long time after Uncle Eb left for the Henderson farm. Then, as darkness fell, I went back to the homestead to tell Aunt Cora and Ralph that Uncle Eb wouldn’t be back that night. I told them that when he’d seen Walter Henderson earlier that day, Mr. Henderson had offered him a ride into town early tomorrow morning, and now he’d decided to take him up on it.

I didn’t want to go home, but when Aunt Cora offered me supper, I refused. Instead, I went to my favorite spot by the river and watched the stars come out.

F
riday at dawn Gayle stood on the terrace and told herself it didn’t matter that this would be the last dawn she would see in her thirties. Twenty had been a birthday to celebrate, and thirty had been so busy it had passed without a squawk. But forty seemed momentous. The inn was still hard work, but she had excellent help and few long-range challenges. The boys were growing up and would soon be leaving home. She wondered how she would feel for the rest of her working life, making pancakes and polite conversation without them.

She hugged a coffee mug against her midriff and stared across the water. A gray mist filled the air, and although she was sure the sun had risen, all actual signs were blocked by heavy clouds behind the mountains. The weatherman had said that the remnants of a tropical storm were on their way to bring much needed rain for the weekend, but the onset seemed more immediate.

On the other side of the river there were only trees where a farmhouse had once stood. She wondered if Miranda Duncan had ever come out at dawn to gaze at the river like this. Had she looked back on decisions she had made, relationships she had engaged in, with doubt or satisfaction? Had she asked herself on the eve of an important birthday what the rest of her days would hold?

“I thought I’d find you out here.”

At the sound of Eric’s voice, Gayle did an about-face. She’d heard the inn door open, but she had expected to be joined by one of her sons.

“Did you even go to sleep?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you get up for a sunrise if you didn’t have to.”

He toasted her with a coffee mug, twin to her own. “I’m not sure why I’m up. Do you mind if I join you?”

“I’d welcome it. I was getting a little maudlin.”

“That usually works best after a minimum of four stiff drinks.”

“Well, sometimes it’s easy enough without booze.”

“Don’t tell me this is about your birthday.”

She put a finger to her lips. “Bad word. I’m surprised it’s not tucked away in Buddy’s repertoire.”

“I swear, Gayle. The woman we bought that bird from told us he talked. She just forgot to tell us what he said.”

“If Noah can sneak him in, Buddy will be the hit of his college dorm.”

His laugh was low and sleepy. “At least now we know why she was in such a hurry to get rid of him.”

Gayle turned back to her view and wished the landscape would brighten. “I come out here every morning. It’s my quiet time.”

“I remember. I know I’m interrupting.”

“Company’s nice for a change.”

He came to stand beside her. She could feel the pleasant, almost protective, warmth of his tall body. “How nice?”

She turned just a little so she could see him better. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been alone a long time—”

“Three sons is hardly alone.”

“You know what I mean. Then here I come again. I invade your space, take up your private moments.” He nudged her hip with his seductively. “Give way cool neck rubs.”

She had been aware of him towering over her, and of the sliver of excitement that came from it. She could pretend to misunderstand, but Eric would eventually pin her down. She was up against a pro.

Instead, she countered. “What’s it been like for
you?
Being here? Being with the boys…?”

“Being with you?”

“I was edging into that.”

He smiled down at her. “It’s the road not taken, isn’t it? Don’t we always wonder if we made the wrong turn? That’s what Dillon’s play’s all about. Decisions.”

“It certainly seems to be.”

“I still ask myself if I should have stayed. When I left for good, didn’t you wonder if you should come with me? You were invited.”

“You didn’t want me.”

He swirled his coffee and turned his gaze to the horizon. “I never said that.”

“Eric, you were beleaguered. You’d just had an affair to prove it. You had a new baby after taking steps to prevent one.”

“Immaturity warring with selfishness. The jury’s still out on which side won.”

“I’m not angling for an apology.”

“Maybe it’s too long ago to remember everything I felt, but after I left, I missed you. I kicked myself for everything. I even considered not signing the divorce papers.”

Despite not wanting to, she could believe him.

“And you?” he asked.

Like him, she turned back to the horizon. This was a conversation best carried on without eye contact. “You’re right, it
was
a long time ago. I know I shed my quota of tears. I wanted things to work out. I remember looking up airplane schedules and rentals in London so we could be closer to you and at least try to put the pieces back together.”

“But you didn’t buy tickets.”

“The road not taken.”

“Maybe at the time we did what we had to. But these times are different.”

There it was, in the open at last, the possibility of reconciliation. And now there was no place to hide.

She still didn’t look at him. “Aren’t we the same people? After the boys leave home, I’m not sure what I want for my future, but I don’t want to trek all over the globe with a man who’s happiest in the thick of battle.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Maybe I could get a job in D.C., like we talked about all those years ago. You could keep the inn.”

“Why should you stay around?”

He set his mug on a ledge; then he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Because maybe this is where I need to be, with you and the kids, like a real family again.”

She searched his eyes. “
Like
one?”

He winced. “Be one. Maybe vows, rings. The whole nine yards.”

She fell back on numbers, because what else did she know for sure? “Sixty percent of second marriages end in divorce, and that’s simple second marriages. Not remarriage to the person you divorced.”

“You’re certainly up on the statistics. Does that come up in conversation a lot?”

She had to smile a little. “I’m conversant with the Internet.”

“And you were busy
conversing
with the Internet on this topic?”

“We divorced for a reason. Is there any
good
reason to think we wouldn’t have the same problems if we tried again?”

“We’re older, smarter, calmer, and maybe both of us are ready to find solutions.”

She listened to his words but even more to his voice. Eric was the most persuasive person she knew. His job was to sell the news, to make viewers believe every word he said, to inspire trust and faith so they would never willingly choose another correspondent.

He didn’t sound persuasive now. He sounded as if he were asking questions. He sounded as if he were putting together a story on divorce and remarriage, all the pros and cons. He
looked
like a man flying blind.

She searched his eyes for more clues. “Is this just about being a better father? About making up to the kids for being gone so much? Finishing up their childhood on-site?”

“I think it’s about a lot of things. I guess that’s one of the big ones.”

“The worst possible reason to reconsider our relationship would be the boys. They need us both, but they don’t need us together. Right now you’re forging new bonds, and no matter what happens between
us,
that’s what really matters.”

He dropped his hands. “I don’t know how much of this is about them and how much about…”

She waited for his answer to stir her emotions, but from the start the conversation had been more academic than emotional, and that seemed wrong and, in its own way, telling.

“What
is
it about, then? Were we such soul mates that we can’t live without each other?”

He smiled, not the famous Fortman grin but something more genuine and sweeter. “I don’t believe in soul mates, but I loved you.”

She felt herself softening. “Maybe that’s why neither of us moved on to somebody else.”

“Because we were still in love?”

“No, because it’s hard to reconcile loving somebody with failure.”

“What if we’ve finally learned what we need to know?”

Or what if they were both just better at pretending? That thought wouldn’t leave her. Nor would another, that here they were, talking about love, divorce and marriage, and her hands were still steady. Her heart wasn’t pounding so hard that her chest could hardly contain it.

The first time they had fallen in love, their feelings had been white hot, like stars blazing across the sky. She had lived for the sight of him. And now, what did she feel? A yearning to set the past right? To at long last turn failure into success? But what had happened to the heat, the rush of blood and the desire to free fall through space in each other’s arms?

Was the same maturity that might help them work out their problems the reason that no stars blazed in their private heavens?

As if he’d read her thoughts, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, then her lips. “Don’t make a decision on the spot, okay?”

He smelled like coffee and soap and Eric, but she felt herself backing away. “This will confuse the boys. This isn’t something we can talk to them about.”

He held up his hands. “It’s the first of many conversations just between us. We’ll take it slowly, backtrack as often as we need to. No pushing or shoving. No tug-of-war. No mistakes this time.”

“As if our lives aren’t complicated enough.”

His expression was grave. “If this is only a complication, then that’s an answer, isn’t it? Can you say that’s all it is?”

She couldn’t and didn’t. But later, when she was hard at work in the kitchen finishing breakfast preparations for the morning’s guests, she wondered what she should have replied. And she knew that, for now, no answer would have been good enough.

Gayle’s birthday party was planned. The meal was an informal buffet, so an exact head count wasn’t necessary. Sam had asked a few members of the women’s auxiliary to step in and help the caterer and florist with the setup and cleanup. Several people had agreed to greet guests while Eric fetched Gayle.

With most of the work finished, Eric felt let down. He had enjoyed the phone calls, the sense of moving a project along and doing something important. If he was truthful, he had enjoyed being recognized and having a chance to talk about his work. As pathetic as it was, he had basked in those brief moments in the spotlight again.

As he drove to the dig after breakfast, he thought about his talk with Gayle. Unlike some women, she was most desirable when she wasn’t fully awake, softer, easier to reach, less capable of hiding her emotions. Watching her, talking about the birthday to come, he had felt a wave of affection, and he supposed that was why he had impulsively broached the idea of reconciliation.

But the idea hadn’t appeared out of the blue. Since arriving, he had considered and reconsidered the idea of staying in the Valley and taking back the life he had abandoned. Could he make up for past failures to Gayle and the boys by spending the rest of his days being a good father and husband? Or was this just another train wreck waiting to happen?

He thought about his friend and cameraman who would never have the opportunity to see his daughter grow up or be a real father to her. Howard had died doing what he loved most, but to what purpose? To produce a few minutes of film that no one would remember a week later? To ask murderers to share their world view on international television? Was that the way Eric wanted to die? In the middle of a war, scrambling for an interview?

When he’d considered moving back for good, he had cautioned himself to wait to make decisions. He owed Gayle a lot, but he didn’t owe her more heartache and rejection. He’d provided plenty of that already.

Now he wondered how he would have felt if Gayle’s eyes had sparkled with anticipation at the possibility of marrying again. Then there would have been no room for retreat. Imagining it, he felt trapped in some of the same ways he’d felt twelve years ago.

But Gayle’s eyes
hadn’t
sparkled. She had been wary and armed with all the right questions. Unfortunately, he didn’t have many answers. Yes, he loved their sons and wanted to be the best possible father he could manage. Yes, maybe he still loved her. He just wasn’t sure how, and he thought her feelings for him were every bit as cloudy.

Finally, despite wanting to leave Ariel out of the equation entirely, he couldn’t help but think of her. Self-centered, driven, single-minded, take-charge Ariel.

Beautiful, funny, intelligent, compassionate Ariel.

He was fresh out of adjectives, insight and energy, and he was glad the dig was so close. His head was spinning with what-ifs, and he didn’t want to think about this anymore.

When he drove across the low water bridge, the haze still hadn’t lifted. Since this was the last full day of digging, he had expected to find the campers goofing off. Tonight was the final campfire, when they would find out the end of Robby’s story, and tomorrow after breakfast they would break camp and go home. But by the time he drove up, the kids were already hard at work.